A Thousand Moons, A Thousand Waves
by Ascamelien
Summary: Yet another RM fanfic: Marguerite and Roxton share romance together at last . . . and trouble brews soon after. Ch. 16 IS FINALLY UP!
1. A Nightmare Awakens the Treehouse

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of The Lost World belong to Telescene and not me, yadda-yadda-yadda.  
  
Svegliati amore mio  
  
Che la notte è già passata  
  
Svegliati vieni qua fra le mie mani  
  
Nasce il sole  
  
Non pensare al passato  
  
Quanta nebbia c'è là  
  
Stringimi e parlami ancora  
  
E vedrai si rivivrà  
  
Legami con i capelli il cuore  
  
Tu mia onda scendi dentro me  
  
Stringimi che ormai io sono il mare  
  
Questo brivido ti scioglierà  
  
~Mille Lune, Mille Onde  
  
--Andrea Bocelli, Cieli de Toscana  
  
TRANSLATION:  
  
Wake up my love  
  
The night's already over  
  
Wake up come here in my arms  
  
The sun is rising  
  
Don't think of the past  
  
All the mists that lie there  
  
Hug me talk to me again  
  
And you'll see we'll live again  
  
Bind my heart with your hair  
  
You're my wave breaking inside me  
  
Hug me for now I'm the sea  
  
You'll feel the thrill right through  
  
~A Thousand Moons, A Thousand Waves  
  
–Andrea Bocelli, Sky of Tuscany  
  
  
  
The night was of chaos.  
  
The silver stars were cold, and the golden moon was trapped in shadowy figures; dark, eerie clouds; where it cast only an ominous glow. A wicked wind, icy its touch, blew down wildly from the night air.  
  
Down to earth, it only became worse. Orange-and-red flames furiously roared from their path, devouring everything in its way, and casting off a suppressing smoke. Dusty-grey ashes hovered in the air, parts of it still glowing fiery red.  
  
Inside the deadly circle of fire, a battle raged; a small village was under attack. Alas, the enemy, unknown to the villagers held strong opposes, and was on the winning side. The soldiers of the enemy had almost torched half of the village, while they brutally fought their opponents, outnumbering them almost one to a hundred.  
  
The villagers' soldiers, which were few in number compared to the enemy, found it hard to keep up. Their numbers were quickly becoming vanquished and could not hold onto their defences much longer. Even with Challenger's scientific mind and inventions, along with Roxton, Malone, and Veronica among them fighting to help, they were still losing.  
  
Meanwhile, in a small hut that had not yet been touched by fire, Marguerite layed tucked inside of a bed. She could clearly hear the battle raging outside in the dark night. She did not know where she was or why she was there; all she knew was that she was feeling an agonizing and writhing pain in her lower abdomen. Her grey eyes were filled with the signs of that agony. She felt freezing cold, yet she also felt boiling hot at the same time. Her body was covered in goosebumps, while beads of dribbling sweat rolled off her forehead. She was breathing heavily, almost as if gasping for air.  
  
Suddenly, Marguerite screamed. Her scream echoed throughout the remains of the village, which reached Roxton's ears. Immediately, he knew that Marguerite was in pain.  
  
"Marguerite!" he yelled. "I'm coming for you!"  
  
Marguerite, of course not hearing Roxton's words, screamed again. The pain in her abdomen was getting more worse by the minute. She paused to take a breath of air. "Roxton!" she shrieked. "Roxton! Roxton! . . ."  
  
"Roxton . . . Roxton. . . ."  
  
Marguerite gasped and jerked up in her bed. She was still panting for air, and she still felt cold. Her forehead was covered in sweat.  
  
But wait . . . everything was quiet now.  
  
Shaking her head, Marguerite realized that she was in the safety of her room, way up high in the treehouse.  
  
She had only been dreaming.  
  
Marguerite sighed in relief. Pushing back aside a long lock of dark, wavy hair, her mind went back over her nightmare, trying to figure out what it all meant, when. . . .  
  
Suddenly, Roxton, followed by Veronica and Challenger, burst through her bedroom door. Roxton gripped his rifle, while Veronica clutched a dagger. Challenger, also carrying a long rifle, scanned the room for any sign of intruders.  
  
Roxton, dressed in trousers and a half-button shirt, quickly rushed to Marguerite's bedside and put a hand on her shoulder. "Marguerite!" he worriedly exclaimed. "What happened?! Are you alright?! Why were you screaming my name like that . . . we thought you were in trouble. . . ."  
  
"Relax, John," came Challenger's calm voice. "As you can see, there are no intruders here, and Marguerite is clearly unharmed. She must have been having a nightmare."  
  
"That must have been one hell of a nightmare," commented Veronica, lowering her dagger after seeing that Marguerite was fine, "I could clearly hear her screaming from the other side of the treehouse!"  
  
Roxton, never taking his gaze off of Marguerite, still urged the panting woman, "Marguerite, are you sure you're alright? You gave me– all of us– a fright to hear you scream so loud like that."  
  
"I . . . I . . . I'm fine, Roxton," she said, turning to look into his concerned, yet still handsome face, "you all know that if I were in trouble I would be able to take care of myself," Marguerite commented in her usual blunt fashion. But from the worried look in her eyes, it was clear that she was still under some slight distress.  
  
At that moment, Malone stepped through the door. "I've searched all of the treehouse, and there are no traces of any intruders," he reported to everyone. He held down his pistol and turned to Challenger. "What happened here?"  
  
"No need to worry, Malone," replied Challenger, "it was all a false alarm. Marguerite was just having a bad dream."  
  
Veronica sighed. "Well, if I'm not needed here, I think I'm heading back off to bed." Turning before she left, she flicked her blonde hair, smiled sweetly and added, "Sweet dreams, everyone."  
  
Marguerite rolled her eyes. Looking up at the three men left in her room, she managed a weak smile. "You three should all go back to bed too," she said, "I'll be fine. Challenger was right. It was just a bad dream. I've had those before, you know." But none as vivid and as real as this one, she added silently. She suddenly turned her head to avoid their concerned looks. "Really. It was nothing. Now, I need my beauty rest as much as you do so . . . please go back to bed."  
  
Malone nodded. "All right then, see you in the morning." He nodded and smiled at his friend, and then left the room.  
  
"If you're sure you're alright," Challenger urged.  
  
"I'm positive I'm alright, Challenger."  
  
"Very well. Good night, then." Before he left her room, he looked behind him at Roxton, his glance urging him to leave Marguerite to her rest. Then, he left.  
  
Of course, Roxton stayed behind. He worriedly glanced at Marguerite, who was now beginning to shiver.  
  
Marguerite quickly pulled up her blankets. "You heard me, Roxton. I said I was fine."  
  
Roxton shook his head. "You know, Marguerite, somehow I find that hard to believe."  
  
"Oh?" Marguerite asked, pushing her dark hair behind her shoulders. "And why's that?"  
  
"Well come on, look at you, Marguerite! You're shivering with fright!"  
  
Marguerite shook her head. "It's a cold night," she lied.  
  
"Marguerite." Lord John Roxton raised his eyebrows. "You don't have to be embarrassed around me." He put his hand on her shoulder again, and smiled. His eyes lovingly gazed at the creamy-skinned beauty. Even though she was in the dark, Marguerite could feel her cheeks turning red at his gaze, and hoped that he couldn't sense it.  
  
"It was a bad dream, Roxton. Why are you so concerned?" Marguerite coldly asked, looking away in embarrassment.  
  
"Well, come on, now." Roxton held his smile. "You know that I hate to see you  
  
so– frightened."  
  
"Frightened– me? Ha!" Marguerite scoffed. She wiped the sweat off her brow. "Over some silly nightmare? You must be joking me." Marguerite sighed. But it was quite frightening, she thought.  
  
"Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" Roxton asked.  
  
Marguerite whirled her head around to stare right into Roxton's face. "What did you just say?!" she asked in annoyance, and yet with surprise.  
  
"Come on. At least just until you fall asleep. Besides–" Roxton gave off another dashing smile, "if you call my name again, I'd be right here."  
  
"Roxton–" Marguerite started to say. Suddenly, she paused. There isn't anything I want more right now– only to lie and feel safe in his strong arms, she thought, but it just can't be. It can't . . . can it?  
  
Marguerite slowly looked up at Roxton and into his eyes. They held the other's gaze for a while, until Marguerite slowly began to nod. "Yes John," she said softly, "yes. I . . . want you to stay with me."  
  
Roxton almost couldn't believe it. "Marguerite. . . ."  
  
The flame of his affection for this woman suddenly began to burn strongly . . . almost more strongly than ever before. God knows I love this woman, he silently said, but does she love me back?  
  
The truth was that Marguerite did return his feelings of love and affection. But it was secretly . . . so secret that sometimes she was hiding the truth from herself, too. The chains wrapped tightly around her heart were beginning to loosen, and the large, heavy lock would be opened . . . if John Roxton could provide the key.  
  
So that night, Marguerite and Roxton stayed together, Marguerite's hidden desire only half-filled– she rested safely in his arms, not talking, not doing anything . . . just relaxing and feeling sleep overcoming them. Their hearts softly beat together, almost like one drum, until the hushed sound of Marguerite's sleeping filled the room. John Roxton, feeling more happy than he had in a long time, smiled as he watched Marguerite peacefully sleep. But soon, his eyelids began to grow heavy, like melting lead . . . and he too, fell fast asleep. 


	2. A LongAwaited Love Blooms At Last

1 Chapter Two—A Long-Awaited Love Blooms At Last  
  
Just a pre-note: thank you to everyone who reviewed my first chapter! It was ~greatly~ appreciated! I will honestly try to continue to work on my chapters . . . when I have the time! I'm a high school student, and the homework is mountainous. Seriously! I'm on my March Break right now, but as of Monday the 18, I'll be back in school! Noooooo! Hehehe . . . anyways, please keep the reviews coming! Suggestions/corrections would also be appreciated, as no one is perfect, and I love hearing new ideas for my stories!  
  
  
  
Little by little, the darkness of the night began to fade away. The pink, yellow, and orange strips of dawn rolled across the night sky, painting it over into a beautiful masterpiece. The large, warm sun slowly began to peek above the horizon, spreading its immense light and heat across the earth.  
  
Somewhere in the distance, an exotic jungle bird sat perched in a tree. It began to sing its sweet song of morning. Soon enough, other birds joined in with the song and filled the air with melodious music.  
  
The morning had begun.  
  
"Mmm. . . ." groaned a peaceful Marguerite. She sighed contentedly in her bed as her eyes fluttered open, and smiled, taking in the new morning. God, I feel good, she thought silently, I can't remember the last time I slept this well! She did feel good . . . she felt warm, and safe.  
  
But what was the cause of it?  
  
Marguerite knew the answer. Softly turning her head, she gazed into the face of Lord John Roxton, who was fast asleep beside her. One of his arms wrapped around Marguerite's shoulders, and the other rested on his stomach. She smiled again at the sound of his rhythmic breathing. She gently put her delicate hand on his chest, as if to feel his heart beating. Her hand then moved up to his face and stroked it softly. Her fingers ran over his skin—some parts of it so smooth and supple, and other parts that weren't so smooth. The flesh beneath his eyes had lines—a tragedy had happened in his life. Marguerite guessed that it had been the death of his older brother, William. She knew how much Roxton blamed himself for his brother's death—even when they both knew it hadn't been his fault.  
  
Marguerite ran her hand down his face and back to his chest, where it rested for a slight moment, and then moved to touch Roxton's hand that was on his stomach. At that touch, Roxton awoke . . . gazing into the face of Marguerite. All the happiness that Marguerite was currently feeling was now felt by him as well. My God, she's so beautiful, he thought, I feel like I'm gazing into the face of an angel.  
  
There was no need for any words. The couple's eyes did all the talking, as they lay there together, still in the other's arms. The sunlight from the 'window' of Marguerite's bedroom poured in, illuminating them in a soft, golden aura, as they continued to stare, drinking the other in.  
  
Oh, what passion they were feeling! For Marguerite, this 'passion' felt new to her-- not that she had never felt it before, but now . . . it felt completely different. It felt good, and whole. It felt right. "John," she whispered, at last breaking the silence.  
  
John moved his hand and brushed away a lock of hair in front of Marguerite's face. "Yes, Marguerite?" he whispered in return.  
  
"I love you."  
  
The smile from Roxton's face suddenly faded. Marguerite's faded as well. "John-- did I say it at the wrong time?" She began to feel crushed inside. "Should I have said it at all? I—I. . . ."  
  
Roxton's index finger drifted up in front of Marguerite's lips, silencing her immediately. "You couldn't have said it at a better time," he said happily, the smile returning to him, "I was just completely moved . . . Marguerite, you don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that. I'm so sorry if I upset you. . . ."  
  
"Not at all," Marguerite said. She gazed directly into his eyes, "I'm . . . I'm just sorry I couldn't have said it sooner."  
  
"I knew you would have said it eventually . . . when the time was right for you. And I respect that. I love you too, Marguerite." And with that, he brought her face closer to his and planted a sweet kiss on her lips. Marguerite returned it, and soon, their lips were locked in a passionate kiss that lasted for a while.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Veronica smiled as she watched the two lovers from a small, open crack in Marguerite's door. Silently, she closed it. Staying behind the door a moment longer, she continued to smile happily.  
  
Malone soon came to join her. "Veronica, how's Marguerite doing—" He stopped short as Veronica held up a hand to silence him. "Shh," she said quietly.  
  
"Oh, you mean you didn't wake her up?" Malone furrowed his brow and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "I thought you said that 'just because she had a nightmare didn't mean she should be deprived of her daily chores'. What happened now?"  
  
Veronica smiled at the young journalist. Come to the kitchen, and I'll tell you all about it. . . ." 


	3. Painful Memories of Another World

1 Author's Note: once again . . . thank you to everyone who reviewed my story! I am glad that everyone so far seems to be enjoying it! This chapter won't really have much to do with the main plot of the story (which I will be getting to ~very~ soon), but I just wanted to write it because no one has ever really touched on Challenger's life back home. We all know about Veronica's past life with her parents on the plateau, as well as (some) of Marguerite's dark past. We also know about Roxton, his family, and his "Lordly" title. As for Malone, we know about his American life, as well as his experience in the army. But nothing has ever been said much about Challenger! So, to fix that, I thought I'd add in my little own ideas about ~his~ life back home as well. It's not much, but it's a start. So, without further ado . . . may I introduce chapter three!  
  
2  
  
3  
  
4 Chapter Three—Painful Memories of Another World  
  
Challenger groaned as he roughly set down his cup of tea on the kitchen table, causing the hot, boiling tea to rush out of the side, burning his index finger. "Ah!" he suddenly cried in pain, "damn!" He paused and stood up from his chair, turning to glance in the direction of Marguerite's bedroom. "What in the world are those two doing in there?!" he sighed in exasperation.  
  
Veronica stifled a small giggle as she handed Challenger a bottle of ointment used for calming small burns and cuts. "Oh," she said, smiling playfully, "I'm sure you can guess." Challenger only grumbled in reply.  
  
Ned Malone, also sitting at the table, briefly stopped his reading of a novel to stare up at the frustrated visionary. "Ah, come on now, Challenger," he said with a grin, "where's your sense of romance?"  
  
"Of course—romance." Challenger sighed as he applied the greasy ointment onto his injured finger, dabbing it on lightly. He frowned, suddenly remembering his wife, Jesse, waiting for him back in London. God, how he missed her . . . sometimes, she was his only inspiration for staying alive and keeping well during the many small, and not-so-small blunders on the plateau. A part of him wanted to stay on the plateau—there were just so many things out there . . . secrets and mysteries that had yet to be solved by a scientific mind like his. But the other part of him longed to go back home and to get back to his business, back to society . . . back to his wife. Silently dismissing himself from the kitchen, he grabbed his cup of tea and walked out to the balcony, leaving Veronica and Malone to stare at each other in confusion.  
  
A small breeze greeted him as he stepped out in the open air. After carefully taking a small sip of his tea, he held the cup in his hands and closed his eyes, going over the face of Jesse in his mind . . . while millions of miles away, back in London, she was doing the exact same thing.  
  
  
  
Back in London. . . .  
  
  
  
Jesse Challenger turned to lay on her back and stared up at the high ceiling of her bedroom. It had been a most dreadful night . . . she had dreamed that on a certain morning, she had turned around in bed and found that her husband, George Challenger, was not there. She rose up immediately, pulling off the covers and rushing out of bed. "George! George . . . !" she had called out. No one had answered, only the sound of her lonely echoes, bouncing off the walls of the empty mansion.  
  
George . . . George . . . George. . . .  
  
Jesse wiped a tear that had begun to stream down her face. Of course, it hadn't been a dream . . . it was only true, horrible, reality. Her husband was gone, perhaps forever.  
  
No! she cried in her mind. No! He will come back to me. I know he will. Aloud she added, "Please, George, come back to me soon."  
  
  
  
Please come back to me soon.  
  
George Challenger opened his eyes, and stared up at the blue, cloudless sky. "I will, my love," he whispered, a tear coming out of his eye, "I will. I promise." 


	4. The Perfect Mistake

1 Chapter Four—The Perfect Mistake  
  
One month later. . . .  
  
  
  
A month had passed since Marguerite's nightmare had occurred. For the most part, that night had been forgotten—at least by three of the treehouse's occupants. For the other two however . . . that night had definitely been a night to remember. And ever since that special night, the treehouse had been a different place.  
  
Roxton and Marguerite could no longer control their feelings. That night had made the two separate beings one, both mentally and physically. When the couple had finally emerged from the bedroom that afternoon, hand- in-hand . . . the treehouse had much to celebrate.  
  
"At long last!" Challenger had cried, madly shaking Roxton's hand.  
  
"Hey, way to go, bud," smiled Malone, patting the hunter on the back.  
  
Veronica had pulled Marguerite into large hug. "Oh Marguerite, I'm so happy for the two of you!" she exclaimed. She broke the happy embrace and ran to go fetch a bottle of wine—the one they saved for very special occasions. And that night, they celebrated . . . they celebrated a new, blooming love and a new happiness and peace brought to the treehouse.  
  
In the midst of all the joy stood Marguerite and Roxton, together at last. As they smiled and looked into the other's eyes, each felt the bliss and serenity of the upcoming future, full of new horizons and opportunities.  
  
That had been a month ago.  
  
  
  
"Ah," Roxton sighed contently, emerging from his bedroom and walked towards the kitchen in long, smooth strides. "Good morning, everyone!" he cried cheerfully upon entering.  
  
"Good morning, old boy," greeted Challenger, looking up from the table, "my, you're cheerful this morning."  
  
"Indeed I am," replied Roxton, suddenly smiling as he eyed Marguerite readying the table for a hearty breakfast. The heiress looked gorgeous this morning, as usual. Her long, dark hair brushed across her back as she leaned over to set a tray of food on the table in front of Challenger.  
  
Roxton smiled mischievously as he crept up behind his love and gently wrapped his arms around her waist. Marguerite grinned as she felt him tenderly kiss her neck. "Mmm, good morning to you too," she said, suddenly turning around and planting a small kiss on the hunter's lips.  
  
"You're up early this morning," observed Roxton, "I missed you this morning, when I woke up and didn't find you beside me. . . ."  
  
Marguerite sighed. "Aw, poor John," she said playfully, "I'm sorry. I had a few stomach cramps during the night and couldn't sleep."  
  
"Again?" Roxton asked with concern.  
  
"Yes. I've actually been awake since early this morning. In fact . . . I almost went with Veronica and Malone, who went out to get some herbs from the Zanga village that Challenger needed." She paused to smile seductively at the hunter.  
  
"But you didn't?"  
  
"No . . . because that would mean I wouldn't have a chance to say good morning to my handsome Lord." She leaned in once again to kiss Roxton . . . when suddenly, her stomach lurched.  
  
"Marguerite?" Roxton asked as she abruptly pulled away from him. "Marguerite, are you all right?"  
  
"Oh," Marguerite pressed a hand to her stomach, "no, not really. It's those damned stomach cramps again!" She clamped her hand to her mouth and ran towards the balcony, leaned over, and brought up the remnants of her early breakfast. And there she stood, coughing and hacking.  
  
Challenger, who sent Roxton to get a small basin of clean water and a towel, soon joined Marguerite. He soothingly patted her back. "Easy, my dear," he said in his calm voice, "easy. Just take a breath." Marguerite nodded, her dark locks swing across her back and brushing against Challenger's hand.  
  
Challenger suddenly narrowed his eyes at the touch of Marguerite's hair. He stopped patting her back to feel a lock of it. Strange, he thought, her hair feels different . . . it almost feels rough.  
  
His thoughts scattered as Roxton stepped on the balcony with the water and towel. "Marguerite, here," he said, holding out the basin. Marguerite slowly turned around, smiling weakly. "Thanks," she said, dipping her hands in the water and scooped it into her mouth, rinsing it thoroughly. She spit the water over the balcony, and took the towel from Roxton to wipe her mouth.  
  
"Are you feeling better now?" Roxton asked, stroking Marguerite's shoulder.  
  
Marguerite nodded her head. "Yes, much better." She cringed as she felt another cramp. "Never mind, damn it . . . I guess I spoke too soon."  
  
Roxton turned to look at Challenger, who was once again deep in thought. "Challenger?" he called to the elderly man, who paid him no heed. "Challenger? . . ."  
  
"Hmm? Oh. . . ." Challenger shook himself. He first looked at Marguerite, and then turned to Roxton. "John . . . would you mind if I had a few private words with Marguerite? Regarding her stomach cramps?"  
  
Roxton at first hesitated. "Challenger, if there's something I should know—"  
  
Challenger smiled. "Roxton, please. It's nothing serious. I just want to ask Marguerite a few questions about her pains . . . maybe I can fix her a new serum to ease it. That's all."  
  
Roxton nodded silently. "All right." He turned to Marguerite. "If you need anything, just---"  
  
"Let you know." Marguerite finished. "I know."  
  
Roxton nodded once again, and then stepped back inside the treehouse.  
  
"Ohhh. . . ." Marguerite turned around, one hand still clamping her abdomen in pain. She looked up at Challenger. "So, how can I help you?"  
  
"Marguerite," Challenger started, "have you been taking that new serum I made for you, not too long ago?"  
  
Marguerite nodded silently.  
  
"For how long?"  
  
"I've taken it ever since you gave me the stuff." She paused and made a face. "All though the taste of it makes me want to bring that up too. . . ." she smiled humorously.  
  
"So . . . the serum hasn't been helping you at all?"  
  
Marguerite shrugged. "Well, sorry Challenger. I'm afraid it hasn't."  
  
Challenger narrowed his eyes. "Strange." He stroked his red beard, and suddenly eyed Marguerite's hair once again. He reached out his arm and felt a small lock, feeling the texture.  
  
"Challenger . . . what are you doing?!" Marguerite exclaimed, suddenly backing up.  
  
Challenger shook his head. "Marguerite, will you relax? It's just your hair. . . ."  
  
"What about my hair?" She said feeling just a little insulted, running her hands through it. "What's wrong with it?!"  
  
"Well haven't you noticed?" the elderly man replied, "it feels different than what it should. It's gotten very thick, and course . . . almost leathery, if you will."  
  
"So? I don't see what all this has got to do with my stomach cramps—" Marguerite managed before she was once again cut off by Challenger.  
  
"Tell me something, Marguerite. . . ."  
  
"What?" Marguerite asked in exasperation.  
  
"Talk to me about your appetite."  
  
"My appetite?!" Marguerite exclaimed. Now she was becoming impatient. "Challenger! What's going on here . . . what is it with all the suspicion?" Suddenly, she realized the answer. "You know what's wrong with me, don't you?"  
  
Challenger at first didn't reply, but was compelled to at the glare her received from Marguerite. "I have my theories," he simply said.  
  
"Well, why don't you fill me in on your 'theories', then?" Marguerite raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I don't know if I should. After all, I could be wrong. . . ."  
  
"Challenger! Please!"  
  
Challenger sighed. "Well, all right then. I'll tell you what I think is wrong."  
  
Marguerite also sighed. "Thank you. Now . . . is it serious?"  
  
He nodded. "Oh yes, I believe so."  
  
Marguerite frowned with worry. "How serious?"  
  
"Quite serious."  
  
"Quite serious? Is that all you're going to tell me?" Marguerite was once again getting impatient. Challenger's strange behaviors always worried her, especially when it came to her health. "Challenger, please . . . if it's as serious as you're making it out to be, I deserve to know. Now would you stop beating around the bush and just tell me, already?!"  
  
Challenger nodded, and then looked straight into Marguerite's eyes. "I believe that you're pregnant, Marguerite." 


	5. A Loving Exchange

1 Author's pre-note: hello once again! I must thank you all for the great reviews—I really appreciated them! Thank you soooooo much! Yes, I have been busy lately, between homework and my busy schedule, but believe me, I'm trying to keep up! Anyways, this story has been a little sappy so far, and I have to admit it. This chapter especially is very sappy! So if you can't stand that kind of thing—please read (and review—I love reviews!) it anyways. I promise, it won't stay like that for long! After this chapter, the sap will for the most part be over. Okay? Okay! On with the story!  
  
  
  
2 Chapter Five—A Loving Exchange  
  
Marguerite's eyes widened, as her jaw almost dropped to the floor. Her soft breathing began to come out in short, heavy gasps. Her face had turned deadly pale.  
  
"Marguerite . . . ?" Challenger asked, narrowing his eyes. "Marguerite, are you all right?" He stared at the young heiress, who seemed to be going through a slight panic attack. "Marguerite, please, say something!" He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently shook her.  
  
Before Marguerite could say a word, she quickly spun around and leaned over the balcony, throwing up whatever had remained in her stomach that had not been upchucked the last time. She once again began to cough and splutter, gasping for air.  
  
"Oh, Marguerite." Challenger again patted Marguerite's back. "Easy now. Easy does it." He let Marguerite lean onto him, as she was feeling very faint, and dipped a washcloth into the basin of water. He patted Marguerite's forehead with it, and managed to sit her down on a chair sitting nearby. "Relax, my dear." He bent down in front of her and looked upon her in worry. "Please, relax. The extra stress wouldn't be good for the baby."  
  
Marguerite coughed one last time. She avoided Challenger's gaze and stared at the balcony floor. "There is no baby," she said rather flatly, "I'm not pregnant. I can't be."  
  
"Actually, Marguerite, there's a good chance that you are," Challenger insisted, "I know it would come as a great shock to you and all, but—"  
  
"You said it was just a theory." Marguerite's sentence came out rather shakily, as if she was trying not to cry. "You said you weren't sure."  
  
"Well, there is a chance that I could be wrong . . . but after what I've seen from you this past month, I don't think so." He paused. "Marguerite, will you please look at me?"  
  
Marguerite sniffed and moved her gaze from the floor up and into Challenger's face. Her eyes were misty-looking; tears were threatening to overflow.  
  
Challenger's face was straight. "I have plenty of reasons for my assumption. Your appetite, for one." He chuckled softly. "Don't think I haven't noticed you polishing off our leftover raptor meat lately. And believe it or not, I have heard you complaining to Roxton to hunt for domestic chicken . . . though it is clear that those species do not exist on the plateau. And not to mention, I've also heard you trying to describe the recipe for fudge cake to Veronica, along with your begging and pleading for her to find cacao beans on the next hunting trip. And that's not the only proof, Marguerite. Come on . . . can't you see it yourself? It's not only in your appetite . . . it's in your stomach sickness. It's in your hair, and. . . ." Challenger gazed into Marguerite's teary eyes, "it's in your eyes. Can't you see it? Can't you feel it, Marguerite? Clearly, you could have know this yourself---"  
  
"Oh, Challenger!" Marguerite cried, cutting him off. She burst into tears and fell into Challenger's arms, where she stayed there and sobbed uncontrollably.  
  
Challenger sighed and smiled slightly, taking his hand and stroking the back of Marguerite's head. "There, there," he said paternally, "there now, Marguerite. You can cry if you want to. Please don't be ashamed around me. I understand."  
  
Marguerite paused her sobbing and swallowed. "You're . . . you were right, Challenger," she said sadly, "you were right. Deep down, I did know. I . . . I couldn't bring myself to admit it. I'm so sorry." She buried her face in Challenger's shoulder and sobbed once again.  
  
"Oh Marguerite. Don't be sorry—I understand why you feel the way you do."  
  
Marguerite lifted her head up and stared right into Challenger's eyes. "Challenger, you'd never understand the way I feel. You don't know the things I've done in all my years. I've done horrible things, Challenger! There's so much about me you don't even know yet! You don't know the situations I've been in, and how I've struggled to survive . . . I've got a huge burden to carry, Challenger." She paused and sniffled. "A baby would just compound that burden. And John . . . what would he say? We've only been together—openly together, anyways—for a month! What if he thinks this whole thing as a mistake? What if he thinks I'm a mistake—that we're a mistake?!"  
  
Challenger returned Marguerite's gaze. "Do you really think that John would think that of you—or of the both of you—like that?"  
  
"I don't know," Marguerite sighed, "I don't know what he'd think. I hardly know what to think myself! I mean, I know he loves me, but---"  
  
"But that's the thing!" Challenger cried. "Marguerite, I don't think that you realize how much John loves you. And the truth is that I've never seen anyone more in love than the two of you. Never. I've seen that man willingly put his life on the spot just for you. He would risk everything for you Marguerite! Everything!"  
  
Marguerite's mouth opened to reply. But instead, she fell silent.  
  
Challenger sighed. "Marguerite . . . John would never do anything of the things that I'm sure you're thinking of. He's a responsible man . . . and he honestly, truly loves you. He'd be thrilled to know that you, the love of his life, are carrying something that is a part of both of you . . . something made by completely by love. He'd be overjoyed, Marguerite." He paused. "Aren't you?" He took a deep breath and waited for a reply. He didn't know what Marguerite's reply would be, and was almost afraid of what she could say. But his worries quickly vanished . . . because what Marguerite said next made them both cry in joy.  
  
Marguerite smiled. More tears streamed down her face—tears of happiness. "Yes, Challenger," she said, wiping the tears on her face with her hand. "Yes . . . of course I'm overjoyed. And . . . of course I know that John loves me." She began to laugh merrily.  
  
Challenger also laughed joyfully. He pulled Marguerite into a long embrace.  
  
And they stayed there together for a while. 


	6. A Surprise for the Treehouse

1 Chapter Six—A Surprise for the Treehouse  
  
Morning had passed. The sun rose high into the clear sky, signaling the arrival of afternoon.  
  
Malone and Veronica still hadn't returned yet. Roxton was in the treehouse, cleaning out his rifles and checking the supply of their ammunition. He had stopped his work once and a while to peek out on the balcony at Marguerite and Challenger—they had been out there for a while, and Roxton was wondering what they were up to. In fact, he was just about to go outside and interrupt, but the familiar sound of the ascending elevator up stopped him. "Finally, they're back," he said to no one in particular, and put down his rifle to greet Veronica and Malone.  
  
"Ah, hello there, Veronica!" said Roxton cheerfully, as he smiled at the jungle beauty. His smile quickly disappeared as Veronica pushed right passed him, an angry and upset scowl marking her face.  
  
"Veronica!" cried Malone, as he ran to catch up with her and also passed right by Roxton without even a simple hello. "Veronica, don't be like this!" he shouted, throwing his rifle on the floor in anger. "Would you at least look at me?! Come on, I want to talk to you about this!"  
  
Veronica spun around angrily, her blue eyes shining angrily with fire. "Well, I don't want to talk to you!" she cried, and spun back around and headed to the kitchen.  
  
"Veronica!" Malone sped after her.  
  
Roxton sighed as he stepped back from the charging reporter, and shook his head in dismay. It was obvious that Veronica and Malone had gotten into another fight about something. Roxton chucked. And everyone says that Marguerite and I fight a lot, he thought silently. He sighed again as he went to the kitchen to play his role as referee, and hoped he'd be able to stop the fight before they either killed each other or destroyed the treehouse in trying to do so.  
  
  
  
Challenger and Marguerite sat outside together on the balcony, chatting away happily. No more of Marguerite's past had been brought up—they wanted to keep the atmosphere clear of that, and other issues as well. Like Challenger had said, stress wasn't good for the baby, even in the early stages it was going through.  
  
The major topic now had been on telling the rest of the treehouse about Marguerite's pregnancy, especially Roxton. Challenger thought that Marguerite should tell everyone right away, so the secret would be out of the way and Marguerite wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. And of course, there was much planning to be done. Challenger said that planning for a major event like this couldn't be done so in secret.  
  
Marguerite, on the other hand, wanted to wait. She was still quite nervous about telling her secret, and was still worried about Roxton's reaction. Besides, they had a full eight to nine months left to prepare for the whole thing, she argued. Also, it would give her more time to think of a way she was going to tell everyone.  
  
Suddenly, their debate was interrupted as yelling and screaming erupted back from inside the treehouse. "What in the world?!" Marguerite cried, standing up from the chair abruptly.  
  
Challenger stood up as well. "It sounds like Veronica and Malone are back," he said, "and that they've brought another argument back with them." He winced as he heard a dinner plate smash against the floor.  
  
Marguerite also heard Roxton yelling over the voices of the younger people. "Great, and it sounds like they've also got John going in this, too." She frowned and rolled her eyes.  
  
Challenger chuckled. "Maybe we should save the rest of this conversation for another time, and go help the other three before they start drawing blood." Marguerite nervously giggled and nodded her head. "Let's go."  
  
They set the chairs aside and strode back into the treehouse. They entered the kitchen . . . upon which they saw Roxton tightly holding Malone back from charging at Veronica, and Veronica standing across the room. She was holding another plate up high in the air, threatening to launch it. Already, the kitchen floor was littered with pieces of other plates that had been smashed.  
  
"Dear God!" cried Challenger, and carefully stepped over the mess to get to Veronica. He took hold of her arm and implored her to put down the plate. Veronica yelled at Challenger, telling him to stay out of it because it was between her and Malone. Roxton then yelled at Veronica, saying that she had already pulled himself into the fight and was not getting out of it until it was resolved. Malone then decided to shout at Roxton, telling him not to yell at Veronica and that the conflict wasn't any of his business. Then all four of them started yelling at once. Nothing could clearly be heard, which aggravated everyone and heated the fight even more.  
  
In the midst of all this stood Marguerite, helplessly staring around the room in distress. Now Challenger had gotten involved as well. Gotten involved in what? Marguerite thought. She didn't even know what the damn argument was about! Either way, someone had to stop this chaos . . . and she was the one who had to do it. But how?  
  
Suddenly, Marguerite had a thought . . . a crazy little thought in the back of her head. She stared at the angry face of Roxton, and thought that maybe it wasn't a good idea after all. But still . . . the thought nagged at her from the back of her mind. She had to try it. If it didn't work, she would stop.  
  
Marguerite took in a deep breath. "I'm pregnant," she managed to squeak out in a tiny, nervous voice. She shut her eyes immediately . . . and then opened them and frowned.  
  
No one had even heard her! They were still all busy arguing. Veronica had even thrown another plate on the floor!  
  
"I'm pregnant," she said in a slightly louder voice. Still, no one had heard her.  
  
Marguerite growled. These people were starting to drive her insane! Impulsively, she uttered, "I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant! I'm pregnant . . . pregnant!!" She yelled, and imitating the actions of Veronica, grabbed a plate sitting nearby and threw it to the floor, where it smashed into pieces. "I'M PREGNANT!" she cried.  
  
Immediately, the shouts and the cries stopped all at once, as everyone turned to stare at Marguerite. The treehouse went completely silent. Marguerite gulped, suddenly regretting what she had done.  
  
Veronica, who had been holding another plate, dropped it on the floor in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came forth.  
  
Challenger had just sighed and closed his eyes.  
  
Malone's eyes were as round as saucers.  
  
Roxton was the most surprised of all. He stood there, staring at Marguerite with wide eyes and was breathing heavily. Slowly and unsteadily, he walked over the cracked pieces of plates and crossed the kitchen to Marguerite, and stood right in front of her. "M-M-Marguerite. . . ?" he stammered, looking into her nervous, gray eyes.  
  
When their eyes met, Marguerite couldn't look away. Instead, she sighed. "Yes, John," she said, nodding, "I'm pregnant." 


	7. The Night Stalker

1 Author's pre-note: so, here we are again! Of course, I would to thank each and every one of you that reviewed my story. In the famous words of Irish Evil Eyes . . . reviews are motivating! And it's true! So thank you, all of you! Your kind reviews mean so much to me. Sorry if I haven't been posting more chapters lately. RL's been kinda hard on me lately. Plus, I've been working on a Lost World/Lord of the Rings crossover that I started last December. I'm a HUGE fan of LOTR just as much as I am of TLW . . . I thought it would be interesting. So hopefully, that'll be posted here soon (my second fanfic . . . yaaay, go me!). Anyways, on with chapter seven!  
  
  
  
2  
  
3  
  
4 Chapter Seven—The Night Stalker  
  
John Roxton gulped as the colour flushed from his face. He stood silently staring down at Marguerite, his mouth open, taking in deep heavy breaths.  
  
Marguerite worriedly looked into his face. "John. . . ?" she whispered, holding up a shaky hand to touch his cheek. "John . . . for God's sake, please, say something!" His silence was beginning to panic her. What if he hates me now? She asked in her mind, what will I do? I can't raise a child by myself! What is this going to do to me?! She closed her eyes. Calm down, Marguerite. Remember what Challenger said . . . John loves you. You love John. John loves you. You love John. . . .  
  
Challenger, Veronica, and Malone all stood across the room, staring at the couple in bewilderment, their breaths all held. They silently waited for a response. Truthfully, they had no clue what Roxton was going to do or say. Marguerite's declaration (at least to Malone and Veronica) had been a complete surprise for them, and had all knocked them off their feet, practically. Slowly, they all turned their attention to Roxton.  
  
The hunter was the most surprised of all. He didn't know what to say, and he didn't know what to think. All he knew was that a strange sensation had begun to stir deep inside of him. The sensation began to build and rise up, driving him to the brink of insanity. It bubbled and fizzed, and then completely erupted inside of him . . . causing his straight lips to bend into a huge smile. His dark eyes sparkled, as he took in a deep breath and laughed joyfully. "Oh, Marguerite!" he cried, and gathered her into his arms and whirled her around in excitement.  
  
"John!" Marguerite laughed. Once again, her eyes began to tear, and soon enough, she was crying happily. As soon as she saw the smile on Roxton's face, her worries and doubt had entirely cleared from her mind.  
  
Malone let out a sigh of relief, as did Veronica. Challenger just stood there, smiling knowingly, and watching the couple kiss passionately. He had to admit, he wasn't entirely  
  
sure of what Roxton's reaction would be, but . . . he knew it would come out for the best. He was so happy, especially for Marguerite; that afternoon had really brought them closer together, in a father-daughter relationship sort of way.  
  
Marguerite broke her kiss with Roxton to turn and glance happily at the others. She ran towards Challenger, who welcomed her with open arms and wrapped her in a gentle embrace. "Marguerite," he said, "you worried for nothing!" He laughed. "Congratulations, my dear!"  
  
"Yeah, congratulations!" Malone said, smiling and shaking Roxton by the hand. "You know, that's the second time I've said that! Are you two planning to drop any more surprises on us, here?" He laughed and slapped Roxton on the back.  
  
Veronica was simply overjoyed. She was also teary-eyed, much to her embarrassment. She laughed and pulled Marguerite into a hug. "I don't know what to say!" she cried, "except that . . . I'm so happy for you!" She and Marguerite giggled like little girls.  
  
Veronica turned to Roxton and also strangled him with a hug. "Roxton . . . congratulations!" she said, and with a twinkle in her eye, added, "way to go, dad."  
  
"Dad?" Roxton asked. He looked up and smiled, as if trying it on for size. "Dad. I like the sound of that." He took Marguerite's hand in his and kissed it lightly.  
  
  
  
Later that night. . . .  
  
  
  
Marguerite blew out the match she had used to light a few candles in her room with. A small line of gray smoke hovered in the air. She suddenly shivered; she was only wearing her silky, white, sleeveless nightgown. Plus, the cool night air that blew in from outside had filled the room.  
  
The cold feeling suddenly disappeared, as she felt Roxton's warm hands on her shoulders. They caressed her smooth, creamy skin for a while, and then ran down her arms. "Are you cold?" he whispered in her ear.  
  
"Mmm," Marguerite sighed, turning around to face her hunter. She smiled seductively. "Not anymore." She leaned over and planted a small kiss on his lips. She broke away, her face suddenly turning straight.  
  
"Marguerite?" Roxton frowned. "What is it?" He sat her on the bed beside him.  
  
"You scared me today, when you didn't say anything to me after I told you my news." She titled her head, her dark locks falling down her back. "Why?"  
  
"Marguerite," Roxton raised his callused hand and ran it down Marguerite's soft cheek, "I'm sorry if I scared you. I was just trying to get used to the idea that I'm going to be . . . a daddy soon." He smiled softly. "But truthfully, Marguerite . . . I'm so happy. I really am." He put a hand on Marguerite's abdomen. "I love you. And I love our child, even as it grows inside of you."  
  
"Oh John." The seriousness from Marguerite's face vanished, as she smiled. "I love you too." She paused. "The both of you."  
  
They kissed again. Cold wind blew inside the bedroom, causing one of the candle's flame to flicker on and off. Slowly, it began to rain. Cold drops fell from the skies.  
  
But nothing could stop the warmness in that room now. Well . . . except maybe one thing, had they been aware of it:  
  
They were being watched.  
  
Outside, way down below at the floor of the treehouse, a person stood in the rain, soaking wet. He watched in amusement as Marguerite and John kissed and embraced zealously.  
  
So, he thought, Lord John Roxton had found a lover. A lover who was pregnant with his child, yet. Oh yes . . . he had heard the conversations going on that afternoon. After all, he had been below the balcony, listening into the discussion between the woman and the scientist earlier. All of this was useful information. He needed this information, and more that had yet to come.  
  
The stranger cocked the rifle he was carrying. Oh, how he wanted to storm up there, burst into that bedroom, and shoot Roxton right in the chest, all the while amusing himself at seeing the dumbfounded and angry look on his face. He raised the rifle and aimed it into the window, where the hunter's head was in clear view. . . .  
  
But no.  
  
No . . . he was going to wait. Much more preparation had yet to be done. Everything must go according to his plan.  
  
But what was his plan?  
  
The answer was simple: to murder John Roxton and get his revenge.  
  
The stranger smiled once again, and let out a short laugh. Satisfied, he lowered the rifle, slung it over his back, and crept away.  
  
But he would be back . . . soon. 


	8. The Dark Past Catches Up

1 Author's note: and hello once again, everybody! OMG . . . thank you soooooo much for your kind reviews! I'm glad everyone likes the story so far! And I'm sorry for being so late with updating my chapters . . . as I've said many times, I am SO BUSY! Anyways . . . I've FINALLY managed to finish chapter eight! Read and enjoy!  
  
~Just a special thank you to Jaclyn, Evil Irish Eyes, and TLWROX for reading my story from the beginning and posting all your kind reviews. Thank you EVERYBODY! I love you guys! ON WITH THE STORY!  
  
  
  
2  
  
3 Chapter Eight-- The Dark Past Catches Up  
  
Many weeks later. . . .  
  
The baby inside of Marguerite began to grow. And as it grew, she grew as well. Her abdomen soon started to swell and enlarge. There came a time when she couldn't even fit into her regular clothing without ripping open a seam.  
  
Veronica gladly offered Marguerite some of her mother's clothing that she had worn while she had been pregnant with Veronica. "I was born here on the plateau, remember?" Veronica asked, smiling kindly as she handed Marguerite a bundle of clothes.  
  
Marguerite unfolded a clean white blouse, which was large around the middle area. "It looks so big," she said with a frown, envisioning herself in the blouse as time went on and the baby grew more, "but no matter." She suddenly turned to the blonde-haired woman and smiled gently. "It'll all be worth it in the end. Thank you, Veronica."  
  
"Hey, no problem," Veronica said in a wide grin. She put a friendly hand on Marguerite's shoulder. "Everything will turn out for the best, Marguerite. You just wait and see."  
  
Marguerite nodded. She put her hand on her swollen abdomen, and smiled once again.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
  
  
Little by little, the darkness in the sky began to grow. The sun drifted below the horizon, as the cold, eerie crescent moon rose up to take its place in the evening sky. The morning creatures were silenced, as the creatures of the night roamed about. Crickets, thousands of them, worked up their chirps in a song of night, which echoed across the plateau.  
  
Meanwhile, Challenger was busy in his lab, working on a new experiment. Actually, he was constructing a small surprise for Marguerite and Roxton—a large, wooden crib for the baby. It would definitely prove useful for when the time came for the child to use it.  
  
The music from the Blue Danube Waltz softly emerged from the phonograph that Challenger had set on his table to help ease his mind. As he happily hummed the tune, Veronica strode down the stairs and emerged into the lab. "Challenger," she called.  
  
"Hmm?" Challenger suddenly turned around from his work. He had just finished sanding the headboard of the crib.  
  
Veronica yawned. "Ned just went up to his room to get some sleep. Marguerite and Roxton did the same about half an hour ago. If you don't need help or if there's nothing else of importance to do . . . I think I'll go catch up on some sleep myself."  
  
Challenger smiled. "You go right ahead, Veronica. It's been a busy couple of weeks, and you've done a lot in helping Marguerite. You deserve the extra rest."  
  
Veronica beamed. "Thanks Challenger. Goodnight, then."  
  
"Goodnight, Veronica."  
  
As soon as Veronica headed back up towards her room, Challenger sighed and yawned himself. "I think I'll just finish sanding this headboard and retire as well," he said to no one in particular. He picked up a piece of sandpaper from the table.  
  
  
  
  
  
In the meantime, someone was prowling around the treehouse. They crept quietly about, peering up into the windows. When all was clear, they smiled maliciously and silently moved towards the electric fence. . . .  
  
  
  
  
  
Suddenly, a large spark ignited from outside of the treehouse. The music from the phonograph inside the lab died down and then stopped all together.  
  
Challenger jumped as the spark flew up in the air. He had been looking out the window just as it happened. "My goodness!" he cried, and ran towards the window. He squinted as he peered down into the darkness.  
  
A large cloud of smoke was hovering above the electric fence. Other than that, he saw nothing. It seemed as if something had come in contact with it and had somehow managed to shorten the circuit, which had cut off the electricity.  
  
"Damn!" muttered Challenger, wondering what had come in contact with the fence. He sighed. "I suppose it was a good thing I didn't go to bed after all. We'll need electricity for the morning . . . I had better go fix it." He moved to grab a small lantern. He quickly lit the flame inside, grabbed a rife, and went for the elevator.  
  
Suddenly, something inside him made him stop and wonder if going outside to fix the electricity was a very good idea, especially in the dark of night. I have to, he thought to himself, our defenses are now down, and anybody could just come up during the night. Besides, it won't take very long for me to fix. He suddenly chuckled, thinking of how Marguerite would react in the morning if she didn't have electricity. Never mess with a pregnant woman, Challenger thought.  
  
So it was decided. He stepped into the elevator, carrying his lantern and rifle, and descended to the ground below.  
  
  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, back inside the treehouse, Roxton tossed and turned in the bed he now shared with Marguerite. He breathed heavily and uneasily, as cold sweat dribbled down his forehead.  
  
He was having another nightmare . . . a nightmare he had experienced a thousand times.  
  
It was a few years back. Roxton was in Africa on a safari with his older brother, William. They had been chatting together when all of a sudden. . . .  
  
A great black ape out of nowhere appeared on the scene, as if coming from nowhere. It snarled loudly and charged at William. "No!" screamed William, falling to the grassy ground as the ape attacked him violently, clawing, biting, snarling. . . .  
  
"William!" screamed John. He bent down to grab his rife. "WILLIAM!  
  
"JOHN!" cried William helplessly, as he struggled with the dangerous beast on top of him. "John, HELP ME! HELP!"  
  
Roxton, in the state of being half-awake and half-asleep, stirred. Don't shoot, he thought. Don't shoot. You'll kill them both. For God's sake John, please, don't shoot. . . .  
  
But he was in no control. Back in the dream, Roxton raised his rifle, aimed at the beast and his brother, pressed the trigger, and. . . .  
  
  
  
  
  
BANG!!!!  
  
"Nooooo!" cried Roxton, suddenly sitting up in his bed. His screaming awoke Marguerite. "John!" she cried, gazing at Roxton in wonder and concern. "John, what's going on?! Are you all right?" She placed her gentle hand on his face and looked into his eyes. "Please, tell me."  
  
Roxton took in deep breaths. "William," he muttered, his eyes tearing up, "it was William. We were back in Africa, and the ape attacked him again. He was screaming for help, and I raised my rifle and I. . . ."  
  
"John, shhhh," Marguerite whispered soothingly, "I'm here now, John. It's okay."  
  
"No," Roxton said, shaking his head madly, "it'll never be okay."  
  
"Oh, John."  
  
Suddenly, Veronica burst into the bedroom. She was in some troubled state and kept carrying on about something. "Marguerite! John! Get up!" she screamed. Tears were streaming form her eyes.  
  
"Veronica!" cried Marguerite, getting out of bed to help her. "Veronica . . . stop blabbering insanely!" She put her hands on her shoulders. "Veronica, what's wrong? What happened?"  
  
Tears poured down Veronica's face. Her blue eyes were filled with agony, as she stared straight into Marguerite's face and said, "Challenger's been shot." 


	9. A Close Call

1.1 Author's pre-note: well, I've got the next chapter right here. I was lucky, since I managed to buy myself a little more time than I usually have. Anyways, I've gotta be honest, and I have to say that I was kind of disappointed with the number of reviews I received on this chapter. I mean, I know that I'm no Steven King or anything, but . . . I would really like to start seeing more reviews. However, I'd like to thank everyone who /did/ review . . . Evil Irish Eyes, Audrey, Veronica, and Steph to name a few . . . thank you so much! I really appreciate them! I hope that you (and many others) will continue to read and review.  
  
Okay, anyways . . . I'll shut up now. Enjoy the ninth chapter!  
  
1.2  
  
1.3 Chapter Nine—A Close Call  
  
  
  
"Oh my God. . . ." cried Marguerite as Malone and Roxton quickly and carefully carried the stilled body of Challenger out of the elevator and into the treehouse. "Oh my God!" Tears stung her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She began to cry hysterically as she saw the warm blood running through Challenger's lower chest, staining his shirt dark red.  
  
"Quick!" screamed Veronica, leading the men towards her room. "Take him to my room! Hurry!"  
  
They moved as fast as they could and reached Veronica's room, where they gently sat Challenger down on the small bed.  
  
Marguerite tried to stop her crying. "Is he . . . is Challenger. . . ."  
  
"He's not dead," replied an out-of-breath Malone, "at least not yet." He gulped, and then ran out of the room to retrieve some towels and the medical emergency kit.  
  
"The bullet. . . ." Roxton began, "it didn't finish going through him." He held his hand up to Challenger's bloody wound to try to stop the flowing of blood. His hand was soon stained red.  
  
"Challenger. . . ." Marguerite caressed the elderly man's forehead. "Oh Challenger, you're burning up!" She turned around. "He has a fever!" she cried. "Malone, hurry up with that medical kit, dammit!"  
  
"I got it!" yelled Malone, running back into the room, juggling a handful of towels, the medical kit, and a small basin of water.  
  
"The basin!" exclaimed Marguerite. She grabbed a towel, dipped it in the cool water, and dabbed up the sweat from Challenger's burning forehead.  
  
"Stand back," ordered Veronica, as she pushed herself in between Malone and Marguerite. She unbuttoned Challenger's shirt to get to the wound. She shuddered. "It looks ugly," she gasped, trying not to become sick.  
  
"The bullet's still in there," stated Roxton, "and it has to be removed!"  
  
"I'll do it," offered Malone, grabbing the pair of long, steel tweezers. His hand shook with nervousness.  
  
"Are you sure?" asked Roxton. "Malone, you don't look too steady—"  
  
"Will somebody please just do it!" screamed Marguerite with fear and impatience. "Anybody . . . just please, hurry!" she began to whimper as she dabbed more sweat off of Challenger's face.  
  
Malone nodded. "I'll do it," he said again.  
  
Veronica had another wet towel in her hands. She began to clean Challenger's wound as best as she could. He was still bleeding badly. "God, he's losing a lot of blood," she said, almost choking with fear.  
  
Suddenly, Challenger stirred. His eyes fluttered open as he groaned painfully. "What . . . what's going on, here—aah!" he cried in pain as he tried to sit up.  
  
"No, Challenger!" shouted all three of them as they gently pushed him back down.  
  
Marguerite began to cry again. "Challenger," she whispered softly, "you've been shot."  
  
Challenger flinched, as the memory came back to him. "I—I know," he gasped, "I know. I—"  
  
"Shh, not now." Marguerite tried to smile. "Malone's going to remove the bullet from your lower chest first, okay?" She gripped his hand tightly. "Just try to relax."  
  
"Relax. . . ." Challenger murmured, just before he fell unconscious once again.  
  
"Come on, Malone! While he's still unconscious!" exclaimed Marguerite.  
  
Malone gulped once again. He moved closer to Challenger, held the tweezers over the wound, and took a deep breath.  
  
"That's it, Malone," encouragingly said Roxton, "you can do it. Don't be afraid."  
  
"That's right, Malone. You know you can do it! Challenger's counting on you!" chimed Veronica, who was becoming misty-eyed once again.  
  
Malone nodded. "I won't let you down now, Challenger, not after all we've gone through." Without even a single thought, he pushed the tweezers into the wound . . . where almost immediately, he felt the bullet settled in. Quickly, and almost professionally, he gripped the bullet with the tweezers and extracted it from Challenger's body. He smiled victoriously. "Got it!" he cried, holding it up for all to see.  
  
Veronica and Roxton smiled, while Marguerite emitted a long sigh of relief.  
  
"See! I knew you could do it!" Veronica exclaimed, giving Malone a pat on the shoulder.  
  
And from there, things began to grow better. Challenger's wound finally managed to coagulate and stopped bleeding. His fever started to go down, almost to a healthy level.  
  
By the time these events occurred, though, it was early morning. No one had gotten a wink of sleep, in fear of Challenger's still unsteady condition.  
  
But then at last, Challenger awoke. He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes.  
  
Immediately, everyone jumped up. "Challenger?" Marguerite prodded, kneeling down by Challenger's bedside.  
  
"Marguerite," Challenger said in reply, and smiled up at the heiress.  
  
Marguerite also smiled as soon as she saw him, and once again became emotional. "You old fool!" she cried, burying her face into his shoulder. "You scared us sick!"  
  
Challenger patted Marguerite's head. "I gave myself quite a scare," he said and managed a short laugh, "but don't you worry—I may be old, but I'm still holding on strong."  
  
Everyone began to laugh merrily. "Welcome back, George," said a thrilled Roxton, kneeling down beside Marguerite and shook Challenger's hand.  
  
Veronica smiled and threw her arms around him. Seeing him wince at the slight pressure on his chest, she extricated herself and instead gripped his hand tightly. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said. She turned to look up at Malone. "And it's all thanks to you, Malone."  
  
Malone blushed slightly. He smiled and patted Challenger on the shoulder. "It was nothing," he said modestly, "really. I'm just glad I managed it."  
  
"No-no, Malone," said Challenger, looking up in respect at Malone, "I'm not letting you off that easy." He paused. "You saved my life, Ned. I can't thank you enough."  
  
"Challenger, you don't have to thank me at all."  
  
"But I insist. Thank you, Ned."  
  
Malone beamed. "You're welcome, Challenger."  
  
And it was so. Challenger was saved, thanks in most part to the journalist, Ned Malone. While everyone was thrilled that Challenger had managed to escape death once again, one dark question still remained in their minds:  
  
What had happened the previous night?  
  
No one could stand it any longer. They had to find out. Finally, Veronica spoke all of their minds:  
  
"Challenger . . . what happened?" she asked, her voice full of concern. "What were you doing outside in the dead of the night? Why were you out there? And who shot you?" She gripped the handle of her knife. Whoever it was, she would make them pay.  
  
Challenger sighed and sat up, wincing once again. "I knew that question was going to be asked sooner or later."  
  
"And you will tell us, won't you?" Roxton asked, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
Challenger nodded. "Of course. It all started like this. . . ." Taking a short breath, he began.  
  
"It was late last night, obviously. Veronica had just gone to bed. I remained in the lab for a short while, though, listening to music from the phonograph and working on a. . . ." he cleared his throat. "Another experiment. I just wanted to finish up and retire myself, when suddenly . . . a large spark from outside of the treehouse jumped. The music turned off as a result.  
  
"I went to look out the window to see what had happened, and it was there I noticed billows of smoke rising from the electric fence. After thinking for a while, I decided to go out and fix it—"  
  
"You WHAT?!" everyone shouted at once, interrupting Challenger's story. "How could you do such a thing like that?" asked an angry Veronica. "You know the rules of the treehouse—NO ONE is to go out during the night!"  
  
"Veronica. . . ." Challenger drawled.  
  
"No Challenger, Veronica's absolutely right!" chimed Marguerite. "You of all people should know how dangerous the jungle can be at nighttime!"  
  
"But that's precisely why I went out in the first place!" Challenger exclaimed. "With the electricity down and the fence not working, anybody could have roamed in on us and could have done—God knows what!" He sighed in exasperation as everyone continued to glare at him.  
  
"That is still no excuse for what you did, Challenger," said a stern Roxton, "you were all alone out there! You-- you could have been killed!"  
  
"They're all right, Challenger," spoke Malone, "you shouldn't have gone, alone or otherwise! You WERE almost killed!"  
  
Challenger, having no other choice, held up his hands in surrender. "All right, all right," he said calmly, "fine. I admit that I shouldn't have gone out during the night. It's just that it wouldn't have taken me long to fix the electricity, and. . . ."  
  
"CHALLENGER!" everyone else cried in unison.  
  
Challenger smiled. "All right. I get your point—I'm sorry. And I promise you all, I'll never do it again." He paused. "Can I continue on now? Are you all satisfied?"  
  
Veronica's gaze was still stern. "It was a stupid thing to do, Challenger . . . but yes. Please, go on."  
  
Challenger nodded his head. "Thank you. Now where was I?" He paused to think. "Ah, yes. As I was saying, I grabbed a lantern and a rifle and took the elevator down to the ground.  
  
"Immediately, I went over to the other side of the fence, where I had seen the spark emerge. I inspected the wires— where I observed that the wires had been cut. I truly do not know how one could do this without getting electrocuted them self.  
  
"As I was pondering this strange mystery, I heard a rustling noise behind me, coming from some large bushes. I held out my gun, but turned around shortly after as I figured it could have been just the wind in leaves. But then, I heard the rustling noises again, and a twig snapped. I readied my rifle once again. I was positive this time that someone was watching me.  
  
"And that was when it happened. I heard someone cock a gun . . . and a shot rang loudly through the air. I dropped my gun, clutched at my chest, and fell to the ground in pain. In the distance, I could hear someone run off. Shortly after that, I saw Veronica run towards me, and then . . . I blacked out." He paused to sigh. "The rest, you all know."  
  
After a moment of silence, Marguerite spoke up. "Someone shot Challenger?" she asked. "Someone, as in an actual person?"  
  
Malone cracked up. "Well, Marguerite, I don't think raptors know how to use guns," he said and grinned. His grin disappeared, though, after Marguerite shot him a glance of warning.  
  
"But who?" asked Roxton. "I don't think the Zangas—or any other tribe out here, for that matter—have or know how to use guns."  
  
"We aren't the only explorers who came from outside the plateau, I'm sure," said Malone. "Maybe someone from another group stumbled upon the treehouse here and shot Challenger."  
  
"But why?" asked Veronica. "Why would anybody shoot Challenger just like that?"  
  
Malone shrugged. "Maybe they had a reason."  
  
Challenger's eyebrows raised in surprise. "And just what are you trying to suggest, Malone?" he asked. "That someone from my past that I know has come to the plateau to hunt me down?"  
  
"Hey, you never know," Malone replied, suddenly turning to Marguerite, "Xhan sent one of his henchmen out to get Marguerite, remember?" He winced as he received another glare from the dark-eyed heiress. "The circumstances were completely different," she said darkly, suddenly feeling upset as Malone reminded her of the horrible events. She now regretted telling him that story. However, she smiled again as Roxton stroked her arm comfortingly. "Don't think about that now," he said softly, "forget those times, for now. In spite of our current situation, at least."  
  
Marguerite nodded silently. But just like John would never forget the way his brother died . . . she would never forget her past, which was filled with all kinds of dark times and secrets. The only thing she could do now was hope for a better future . . . and that didn't even look too bright, especially if some dangerous lunatic was out there stalking them.  
  
As if he could hear her thoughts, Roxton sighed and pulled Marguerite closer to him. He was no longer interested in hearing Malone's 'bright ideas' and crazy suggestions, and instead held Marguerite and stared out the window at the distance.  
  
He probably would have gone insane if he knew that Malone's suggestions weren't so crazy after all.  
  
Malone had been right—partially right. There was a person hunting them down, seeking their vengeance. But that person wasn't from Challenger's past. They weren't even from Marguerite's past.  
  
They were from Roxton's past.  
  
And suddenly, at that moment, Roxton began to feel strange and uncomfortable . . . he felt as if he were being watched. In fact, as he stared out the window, he could have sworn that he saw a dark figure creep past a nearby tree and run off somewhere. But when he looked again, he saw nothing, and dismissed the thought immediately.  
  
Roxton hadn't been crazy either. Someone was definitely out there, watching closely. That person had been looking into Veronica's window, staring up from the ground at a distance. He had been spying on the explorers, but as soon as they noticed Roxton had become aware of his presence, he decided to quietly slink off, and return later.  
  
"Damn," he said to himself, frowning deeply. His attempt to shoot and kill the older man hadn't been successful.  
  
But that wouldn't stop him from trying again. And he would try again, sometime soon.  
  
The stranger laughed menacingly. "I'll be seeing you later, Lord John Roxton," he said as he crept away, "you can count on it."  
  
  
  
To continue, as usual. . . .  
  
  
  
LOL, did you really think I was gonna let Challenger die? Of course not! I would never . . . after all, Challenger is (other than Marguerite, of course) my favorite character (so watch what you say about him, Audrey . . . LOL, just kidding, of course! I didn't mean that at all!). So people, hit that button and write me a nice, long review! 


	10. An Old Enemy Found

APN: Well, well, well, so we are here again! Let me start off by saying . . . YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST!!! OH YES YOU ARE!!! I was soooooo pleased with the reviews I received—it was much better than last time! Let's just hope it keeps up! Now, ahem, before we begin, here are a few comments to a few of your reviews:  
  
  
  
Evil Irish Eyes: LOL, thanks for becoming so involved! I didn't mean for your room to become an indoor pool . . . sorry! And I have to apologize AGAIN for misspelling your name! ARRRRGH! WHERE is my brain these days?!?!?! Please forgive me for my stupidity!  
  
  
  
Audrey: Yup, Challenger is my 2nd fave character. But I'm sure other people around here like him too! Sorry I kinda made you nauseous about that bullet extracting scene . . . I didn't think it was that explicit. But oh well!  
  
  
  
Jaclyn: Ah, yes . . . I just love the M/R stuff goin' on. And yes, more is to come! Much more! And don't mention anything about my reviews . . . I LOVE reviewing stories, esp. well-written, exciting ones like yours! Thank you for reading from the start!  
  
  
  
TO EVERYONE ELSE: thank you for the reviews! AAAAAHHHH! And don't worry; this chapter reveals the 'mystery stalker man'. Finally, eh? (yes, I AM Canadian by the way!) Keep reading and reviewing! And now, back to the story!  
  
  
  
Chapter Ten—An Old Enemy Found  
  
The next day was a great day of improvement.  
  
Challenger was almost fully well. He insisted on getting out of bed to go outside and get some fresh air.  
  
"Absolutely NOT, Challenger," said Veronica, her eyes sternly gazing at the scientist, "that psycho with a gun might still be out there. It's too dangerous."  
  
"Veronica," Challenger protested, "this is insane. We cannot spend our whole days hiding inside of the treehouse fearing some unknown phantom! Eventually, out supplies will run short. What would you suggest then? That we let ourselves starve or die of thirst because someone might be watching us?"  
  
Veronica went silent. Her gaze softened. "Still, Challenger. What if they still are outside, waiting for us? What then?"  
  
Challenger smiled and looked down at the jungle beauty. "We can't hide forever, Veronica. And to tell you the truth, I seriously doubt they would be out in broad daylight." He paused. "Please, Veronica. I really need to get some fresh air." He passed by Veronica and grabbed his rife, heading towards the elevator.  
  
"Wait!" Veronica cried. She walked to the table where two, sharp daggers were waiting. She took them, and turning to Challenger, she said, "You can't go by yourself, Challenger. So I'm going with you."  
  
Challenger smiled. "Very well, then."  
  
"Who's going where?" Roxton asked, suddenly walking into the kitchen from his room. He eyed the two of his fellow roommates, looking at them questioningly. "Feeling better already, Challenger?" he queried.  
  
"Yes Roxton, much better," came the reply, "better enough to go outside, take in some fresh air, and walk about for a while. Veronica here insists on coming along with me."  
  
Veronica stepped forward. "And maybe it would be a better idea if Roxton joined us," she suggested, nodding convincingly towards the hunter, "the more protection, the better."  
  
Now, Veronica—" Challenger began. But Roxton interjected.  
  
"No George, she's absolutely right," he said, "that person still very well might be out there. Maybe it is better if I were to come along."  
  
Challenger shrugged. "Well, if you insist. The more, the merrier, after all!"  
  
"Great," sighed a relieved Veronica. "While Roxton gather's his things, I'll go write a quick note to Marguerite and Ned."  
  
"A good idea," said Roxton, and went off to grab his rife and extra ammunition. Veronica ran to get a pen and paper.  
  
Challenger just stood there, shaking his head. He gazed outside. "The sun is  
  
shining, the birds are singing, the dinosaurs are silent . . . it's a perfect day," he sighed, "and what could possibly go wrong on a perfect day like today?"  
  
A wild turkey casually roamed the jungle, searching for something to eat. Suddenly, it sharply looked down and caught sight of something on the ground. It looked tasty enough. It quickly pecked down and caught the succulent morsel in it beak, and swallowed hungrily. The turkey gulped and shook it's feathered head, and then continued its search for food, until. . . .  
  
BANG!!!!  
  
Several feathers flew into the air. The turkey screeched and dropped to the ground. Smoke hovered above.  
  
"Ah," Roxton sighed contentedly, smiling and lowering his rife. "I believe we've found tonight's dinner." He walked into the small clearing and grabbed the dead turkey by its legs, holding it up proudly.  
  
"Nice shooting job, Roxton," commented Challenger. He sighed, and stretched out his arms. "Ah, how nice it is to be back outside once again."  
  
Veronica stood silently, listening intently. "Water," she said. The two men also listened for a while. In the distance, not too far off, was a small, babbling stream.  
  
"Excellent," said Challenger, suddenly taking notice of his parched throat. He grabbed a waterskin that Veronica offered him. "It's empty," she said much to his disappointment, "but we can go fill it up at the stream."  
  
"A good idea," replied Challenger. He turned to Roxton. "Are you coming, John?"  
  
Roxton, still holding his latest prize, nodded his head. "Of course." He moved to grab his rifle, which he had rested up against the trunk of a tree, when suddenly, he paused in his tracks.  
  
Suddenly, time seemed to pause for Roxton. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. He stood there, completely frozen and listening warily.  
  
He sensed a presence nearby. Someone was watching them. He could feel it.  
  
"Roxton?" Challenger asked suspiciously, raising his eyebrows at the still form of the hunter and clutching his rifle.  
  
Veronica grabbed her steel daggers from her boots. She also felt the presence of someone close by. She cautiously gazed around her.  
  
"Shh," whispered Roxton, his dark eyes focusing on the area surrounding them, "make not a sound." He began to turn around cautiously.  
  
Someone was definitely watching them. He was aware of their knowledge of him, but he didn't care. He was too desperate for revenge. He raised his rife high and carefully took aim at his target—the jungle girl.  
  
Oh, how he wanted to kill Roxton, right there and then. But no . . . he would wait. He would wait so he could first make him suffer. And he would definitely make him suffer . . . by killing all of his precious friends first.  
  
But not even after that would he kill John Roxton. Not yet. For this crazed man had a secret . . . a deadly secret, kept from Roxton for years. He would tell him this secret first, and then. . . .  
  
Revenge would be his.  
  
Smiling, the man began to press the trigger.  
  
But unluckily for him, Roxton had seen a small glint of light coming from the lense of the sniper scope as the stalker raised his rifle high. "GET DOWN!" he screamed loudly, as he dove bravely and tackled a surprised Veronica to the ground. Challenger suddenly leaped and ducked behind a thick trunk of a tree nearby.  
  
BAM!!  
  
A bullet missed the top of Veronica's head by mere centimeters. It shot by and pierced a tree ahead.  
  
Roxton growled and leaped off of the ground. Scowling angrily, he ran towards the direction of the sniper. Before the enemy had enough time to reload, Roxton had found him and roughly tackled him to the ground.  
  
The unknown enemy struggled greatly. But Roxton, completely enraged, held strong to his grip, and sat on the person's back.  
  
"You son of a bitch," he growled angrily, pinning him down with all his strength and weight, "you tried to kill my friends!"  
  
"Roxton!" cried Veronica, getting up off the ground and ran towards the two men, both struggling on the ground. She helped to pin their attacker down, grabbing his flailing arms and fastening them to the ground. Challenger quickly joined them. "Who is he?" asked Challenger, narrowing his eyes.  
  
Roxton scowled. "Well now, why don't we find that out?" He cautiously turned the stranger over . . . and gasped as he looked upon his face.  
  
It couldn't be possible. . . .  
  
Roxton's breath came out in heavy gasps. His eyes went wide surprise, as did his mouth. His mind flashed back to a few years ago . . . to home, back in London. To his younger years. To his family.  
  
To his brother, William.  
  
Roxton's eyes narrowed deeply. His open mouth closed and turned into a deadly scowl. "YOU!" he suddenly cried, his voice pouring out angst as it ripped out from his heart. "Brett Jenkins!"  
  
So the man being pinned down was a stranger no longer. His facial expressions went from anger and surprise to sheer wickedness. "We meet again, Lord John Roxton," came his deep voice, as he smiled evilly.  
  
TBC. . . . 


	11. A Thousand Moons and a Thousand Waves Ag...

APN: hey all! Wow, I can't believe it's been such a long time since I posted the last chapter! I really MUST apologize for that—RL's been waaaaaaaay too busy the past few weeks, and I haven't been able to have any leisure time to myself to do the things I love . . . writing fanfictions, for one!  
  
  
  
Before I go on with the story, I just want to warn you: there are probably a LOT of spelling/grammar mistakes and errors. Also, the dialogue and storyline in this chapter is really crappy, since I've been rushing to get the darn thing done! So, if this whole thing seems stupid, please forgive me! I promise I'll improve it . . . as soon as I have time!  
  
Just a few comments on some reviews I received:  
  
Evil Irish Eyes: OMG, I can't believe I'm finally typing your name right! LOL, thank you for being so patient with me! I really appreciate it! I don't have much to say here, since I usually say everything else in ~my~ reviews for ~your~ story—which is coming along so awesomely! Keep updating those chapters! I can't wait to read the next one! And thank you for reading my story from the beginning—you're the best!  
  
LOL, one last thing; thanks for fixing that weatherman for me! You must have done something . . . whatever it was, it really fixed the problem! The weather is so nice and warm and sunny . . . LOL.  
  
  
  
TLWROX: You don't have to apologize for not reviewing! My chapters are updated so slowly . . . so it's mostly my fault! So don't worry about it! :- ) Your question will be answered in this chapter, I promise!  
  
  
  
Jaclyn: Aaaah, I'm glad you're still reading and reviewing this fic! You're also the best! Hehe, thank you so much! And wow . . . that was a really good idea you had; maybe I should have used William instead! Why did I think of that?! Hehe, you should have mentioned it sooner! Oh well, that's okay.  
  
Your story, Severed, is coming along awesome! Keep working on it; hopefully, your next chapter will come up soon! Can't wait for it!  
  
  
  
Audrey: LOL, glad you like the name "Brett Jenkins"! Yeah, it does sound kinda evil, doesn't it?! And don't worry . . . Roxton will have his chance to beat him up—but it won't happen until later. Looks like you'll just have to wait! Hopefully, you won't get bored and stop reading before that happens! LOL.  
  
  
  
And to everyone else: THANK YOU SOOOOOO MUCH!!! YOU'RE ALL THE BEST AND I LOVE YA!  
  
~sighs contentedly~ Anyways . . . I won't waste anymore time! May I introduce . . . chapter eleven!!!!  
  
  
  
Chapter Eleven—A Thousand Moons and a Thousand Waves Ago  
  
  
  
Sadness. Confusion. Angst. Fury.  
  
Lost and forgotten emotions swirled around in the mind of John Roxton as he stared down at his old-found enemy. This was the man who, in his earlier years, had crashed into his life like a blazing comet. . . .  
  
This was also the man who John had allowed to worm his way into John's friendship and trust. And that was the biggest mistake that he could have ever made in his whole life.  
  
Roxton looked deep into this man's eyes. Memories of deception and betrayal seemed to radiate from them, causing his mind to cloud up with darkness.  
  
This was the man who had caused him—and his family—so much pain.  
  
Brett Jenkins. He was here on the plateau . . . alive?  
  
But how?  
  
"No," Roxton whispered deeply, shaking his head, "it can't be." He refused to believe it. "You died. I saw you die, you soulless bastard!" he screamed, his eyes suddenly growing wide with anger. His aching voice echoed in the silent air.  
  
Brett narrowed his eyes, which seemed to bore into Roxton's soul. "Don't believe everything you see, Lord John Roxton," he hissed amusingly.  
  
"No. . . ." whispered Roxton again. "No!" He suddenly closed his eyes. Veronica, Challenger, and the whole jungle seemed to fall apart and melt away. The whole present time began to disappear . . . as the past took its place. It overwhelmed Roxton and surrounded him and Brett like a cold mist.  
  
The past had come back to haunt him.  
  
  
  
A thousand moons and a thousand waves ago. . . .  
  
  
  
"Yah! Come on, Arod! Yah!" He cried, leaning forward. He gently pressed his heels against his horse's sides, urging the noble steed to go faster. "Yah!"  
  
Horseback-riding . . . other than attending hunting trips, it was his most favourite thing to do. He loved the feel of the wind in his face, and he loved how the scenery would quickly flash past him as he rode on.  
  
Sometimes, when he was feeling really adventurous, he would get up during pre-dawn hours, quietly sneak out of the house, and head towards the stables. When he got there, he would take his favourite steed, a purebred Palomino named Arod, and saddle him up. Then, he would mount Arod carefully, and would whisper gently in his ear. Arod would then set off, first starting with a slight canter and then speeding up to a full gallop. And he and his rider would ride off into the countryside, while the darkness in the sky was beginning to be overcome by the pink and yellow colours of early morning.  
  
The song of the nightingale would end, as the song of the mockingbird would take over. And the sun would rise. It would begin to peek over the horizon, and would slowly soar upwards, beginning its usual journey across the sky.  
  
And he and Arod would be there to watch it all. They would stay on the grassy plains of the countryside until the skies were completely lightened, and orangey sun fully rose above the horizon. And then they would swiftly make the journey back home.  
  
Of course, these early journeys were hardly kept secret, as the rider's mother would usually be waiting for him by the stables as he rode back. She would be crossing her arms, tapping her left foot, and be gazing at him sternly. And just as she was about to give her son a good, long lecture . . . he would dismount his noble steed and present her with a lovely bouquet of wildflowers that he gathered from the countryside. And then she would smile knowingly, and would gladly accept the beautiful flowers.  
  
"You must come inside now," she would say quietly, "for if your father finds out that you've been sneaking out at night. . . ."  
  
Her son nodded. "I know, Mother," he said, smiling and giving her a small hug. "I know. Thank you."  
  
And mother and son would happily walk together back towards their great mansion, as another day began once again.  
  
  
  
John Roxton smiled contentedly, as these thoughts ran through his mind. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm spring breeze pass by him.  
  
Life was so good.  
  
He opened his eyes. He and Arod were now approaching the beloved countryside once again. This time, however, it was early afternoon, not early morning . . . and they weren't the only ones there.  
  
In the distance ahead of them, another man on a horse awaited. Noticing John and Arod's approach, the horse and rider slowly cantered towards them. The rider's hand waved madly in the air as he came closer.  
  
John gently tugged on the reins of Arod, bringing the steed to a stop. He quickly dismounted and stood beside him waiting to greet the man, who had also stopped their horse.  
  
The rider dismounted. He stood a few feet across John, a huge grin on his face. He was literally tall, dark, and handsome. His eyes were forest green, and his hair was as black as the midnight sky. His face was cleanly shaven and smooth, and his skin was darkly tanned.  
  
John grinned as well. He laughed cheerfully and patted the man on the back. "Good to see you as usual, Brett!" he cried.  
  
"And you too, John!" replied his good friend Brett, pulling John into a small embrace and patting him on the shoulder. "I'm so glad you could make it!" he paused. "How's the family? And how's that brother of yours? Still getting into your silly squabbles like you usually do?"  
  
Brett Jenkins and John Roxton—they had been the best of friends for years. They had met each other in boarding school as adolescents, and finding they had much in common, quickly became good friends.  
  
Both were sons of rich and important people of England; John's father was a Lord, and the father of Brett was Sir Ian Jenkins, a personal friend of the Royal Couple, knighted by the King himself.  
  
John shook his head. "No, William hasn't been around much for us to fight—he's much too busy for me, apparently. Lately, he's been travelling all over England with our father, going to those 'important business meetings' of his." John rolled his eyes. "Important business meetings indeed!"  
  
Brett shrugged his shoulders. "Ah well. Older brothers—what can I say about them?" He made a face. "They think they're soooo important, just because they're older and get to inherit daddy's fortunes once the old crow kicks the bucket!" To be dramatic, Brett kicked a nearby tree in anger. "Stupid old blighter."  
  
John chuckled. "I see you haven't been getting along with your older brother either."  
  
Brett sighed. "What else is new with Thomas? Seriously, he acts like a perfect little son around our father all the time. You'd probably expect the old man to see through the act, but does he really?" He paused to chortle. "Of course not! No, he falls blindly into Tommy's trap without a single suspicion!" He fell silent for a moment. "Stupid blighter," he added again.  
  
John laughed. "Cheer up, old boy. Trust me, I know exactly how you feel."  
  
Brett slowly looked up into John's face and smiled sadly. His sad smile bent down into a dismal frown, as the tone in his voice changed. "I know you do, John. That's why you're my only friend right now—because you're the only one who knows how I feel." He suddenly looked down to the ground. "And . . . you're the only one who can help me now." Brett looked back up into John's face. "Will you help me, old friend?"  
  
John jerked his head back at the sudden change in his friend's attitude. But after a while, he nodded. "Brett, of course I will," he said supportively. Suddenly, he paused. "But that all depends on how I can help you."  
  
"Oh, John." Brett sighed. "It . . . it's happened again."  
  
"It?" repeated John, narrowing his eyes. "What's happened again?"  
  
Brett shook his head. "You know what I'm talking about, John."  
  
After a slight pause, John frowned. "You've been gambling again," he said, his voice lowering in disappointment. "And you've lost your all bets, haven't you?"  
  
Brett nodded. "John, I feel—so ashamed." He titled his head down so John couldn't see the embarrassment his face.  
  
If only John had known that Brett's embarrassment was a ruse.  
  
"As you very well should be!" came John's angry voice. "Brett, how could you do this again? You promised me that you stopped your gambling addiction!" He glared at the man stooping in front of him.  
  
Arod, standing a few feet behind the feuding men, snorted loudly and stamped his hooves on the ground. He swished his tail nervously, as he watched the situation between his rider and his friend immediately begin to tense.  
  
"John, please!" cried Brett, bringing up his face. His eyes held a look of desperation. "You have to understand! Gambling is not an easy thing to quit! Especially after your own family's been doing it for years like mine has!"  
  
"That's no excuse for lying to me, Brett!" shouted John. "You said you quit when you were really gambling all along!" He snarled. "How long has it been now, Brett? How long have you been keeping this behind my back? You said we were friends! Well, friends don't lie, Brett! And not only did you plain out lie to me—you played me like a fool!"  
  
Brett clenched his teeth as John's angry voice echoed through the calm country air. "As I had good reason to!" he yelled back. "I knew this was the way you'd react! How can you blame me for being afraid of that?!"  
  
"Afraid!" John cried, completely furious. His livid voice boomed throughout the air. Arod whinnied and reared onto his hind legs.  
  
"Afraid, were you?" bellowed Roxton. "If you were so afraid of my reaction, why did you do it in the first place? You're a bloody fool, Brett!"  
  
Anger flared up in Brett's eyes. He clenched his fist behind his back. You bastard, he thought silently, you dare to call me a fool? I'll show you, then! His fist shook madly, but then . . . it went calm again, as Brett unclenched it and relaxed. No, he thought, no. At least not now. I need something from him first.  
  
Brett sighed. "You're right, John," he said quietly, his voice feigning innocence, "you're right about me. I am a fool." He looked into John's fire-laden eyes. "I lied to you John, and I broke our promise. I did great wrong . . . and now, I'm paying for it." He smiled sadly. "Please John, don't be angry at me."  
  
"I have every right to be angry at you!" exclaimed John.  
  
Brett flinched. "Yes, you do. I know. And . . . I'm sorry."  
  
"You're sorry." John chortled. "Right. And how to you expect me to believe that you're really sorry?"  
  
"I can't expect you to do that. Not after what I did. I broke a promise John, and I really regret it. I truly mean that. And not only did I break our promise . . . I broke your trust, as well. Perhaps I can never replace it again."  
  
John silently stared at Brett, his fists clenched at his sides. The fire in his eyes had begun to die down.  
  
Brett continued. "John, you have to believe me now when I say you must forgive me and help me!" At the sudden jerk of John's head, he added, "I'm not saying that you have to regain your trust—I understand that it'll take a long time, if at all, to be gained back. And your help is the last thing I deserve right now. But John, please, at least in spite of our long friendship and whatever dignity I have left—please, help me! You don't understand the trouble I'm in!"  
  
"It's you who put yourself in that trouble, Brett," came John's calm voice, "and maybe you're the only person who can get you out of it."  
  
Brett madly shook his head. "No John, I can't! You see, the money I lost is not what most concerns me— it's the money I owe."  
  
"The money you owe to whom?" John suddenly asked, narrowing his eyes. "Your father?"  
  
"No," Brett replied in a whisper. His voice trembled as he answered, "no . . . the money I owe to the Newman Gang."  
  
John sighed and closed his eyes. "God dammit, Brett."  
  
The Newman Gang—they were a mob of gangsters, crooks, drug- traffickers, and murderers who were famous throughout England for their crooked deeds. A hundred times, the authorities had tried to arrest them—but apparently, the Newman Gang knew how to cover their tracks well; any evidence of a crime whatsoever an affiliate might have left behind was always taken care of by their fellow members. Murder weapons were taken away, and were either hidden or destroyed. Dead bodies were buried, cremated, or hauled over into the ocean far away. And any witnesses or enemies who dared to tattle were shut up—permanently.  
  
John shook his head in disbelief. "The Newman Gang!" he exclaimed. "Brett, how could you—WHY would you do such a thing?!"  
  
"Because I had no choice!" Brett cried, throwing up his hands. "There was no other way to get money! I knew that you wouldn't lend me any money since I had promised you my gambling had stopped. My father wouldn't do it either, since he needed it for himself to gamble away! Same thing with my brother! So, since one of their members used to be a good friend of ours—Simon Boyd—"  
  
"Simon Boyd!" cried John, who recognized the name of his former friend, and closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
"Yes, dear old Simon Boyd—I went to him for help. He talked to the boss of the Newmans, and came back later with plenty of money—and news.  
  
"He said I could take the money and do whatever I wanted with it—as long as I could pay it all back within a month's time. But if I didn't do that—there'd be trouble to pay."  
  
John clenched his teeth. "And let me guess—you took the money, and gambled it all away. The deadline's approaching and you have none left to pay them back."  
  
Brett nodded sadly. "Yes."  
  
John exhaled greatly. "Well Brett, you've done it this time. You've gone up the creek without a paddle, and now, you'll have to go along the rapids on your own." He turned and walked away to mount Arod.  
  
"John! Wait!" cried Brett, running to catch up with him. He put his hand on John's shoulder. "John, don't you see? My time's run out! I've got until tonight—TONIGHT—to pay them back! And if I don't pay them back by that time. . . ." he gulped, "I'm dead."  
  
John took his foot out of Arod's stirrup and turned to gaze at Brett. "You should have known better."  
  
Brett sighed and nodded maniacally. "I know, I know!" he cried. "John, please. I'm in so much trouble right now! I might not even make it out alive! But if I do—" he paused and looked into John's eyes. "If I do, I promise . . . I PROMISE . . . that I will never do such a stupid thing like gambling again. EVER."  
  
"Brett, I've heard this from you before. . . ."  
  
"But this time I'm being truthful!" he shouted, completely upset. A tear even emerged from the corner of his eye. "You can't abandon me, John! Not now . . . not in a time of desperate need like this!" He paused, as the tear strolled down his face. "You . . . you don't want me to die . . . do you?"  
  
John sighed. He looked down at his desperate friend . . . and smiled sadly. "Of course I don't want you to die!" he softly said. He offered a friendly hand on his shoulder.  
  
The single tear strolled down Brett's face. He stared directly into John's eyes. "Then why won't you help me?" he asked softly. "John . . . all I'm asking you for is some money. Just lend me the money I need, and I—"  
  
John sighed and shook his head. "Brett, you've asked this same favour of me for years. I've always lent you money whenever you needed it . . . and you've hardly ever paid me back. . . ."  
  
"I'll pay you back!" cried Brett. "I promise, John! I'll give you the money back as soon as possible!" He paused to wipe the nervous sweat off his forehead. "John, please! Just lend me the money! My life is on the line! Don't you see that, John? Don't you see that if you don't lend me this money, I'll die? The Newman Gang will have me butchered like a cow! Don't you even care?" He walked over to John and put his hands on his shoulders. "John, I'm asking you one last, desperate time . . . please, for the love of God, lend me the money that I need!"  
  
"Brett." John's face went completely serious. "You know that I care. And . . . it's because I care that I won't lend you the money."  
  
Hearing this response, Brett's jaw dropped to the grassy floor. "What?"  
  
"You heard me, Brett. My answer is no. I'm not going to lend you money."  
  
Brett's mouth was still open wide. He began to gasp in deep breaths of air. His face went pale, as his head went light. He staggered back and gripped a tree for support.  
  
John frowned sadly as he looked at his friend in despair. "I'm sorry, Brett."  
  
"Sorry. . . ." Brett sighed, as his the fire in his eyes raged once again. "Sorry . . . you're sorry?!" he bellowed. He clenched his teeth and scowled. "You're going to turn your back on me . . .just like that?!" His fiery eyes narrowed in disdain. "You called yourself my friend . . . but you're nothing but a traitor!"  
  
"I'm a traitor?!" cried John, stepping forwards. He walked over to Brett and looked down upon him, his eyes glaring at him furiously. "I'M a traitor?!! You called yourself a friend to me . . . and yet you lied to me! And you broke your promise to me as well!" He clenched his fists. "Don't you DARE accuse me of not being a good friend to you! I did everything I could to help you out! I gave you money when you needed it to repay your debts—even though you hardly ever paid me back—out of my own pocket! I gave you comfort when you needed it—I stayed behind you when your entire family shut you out! I always backed you up! And not one time . . . not one damn time did I ever hear you say thank you!" He gasped angrily and pointed an accusing finger. "I gave you everything you needed! And all you did was take . . . take . . . and take!"  
  
He and Brett stood face to face. They gazed into the others eyes, sending their anger and fury shooting out wrathfully. "You used me, Brett! Dammit, you used me all these years! YOU are the traitor here!"  
  
Brett opened his mouth to say something, yet no words came out of his mouth. He averted John's livid gaze and stared at the ground. His rage and fury began to build up in his head, blocking out all the friendship and good times he and John ever had.  
  
It was over. Their friendship was finished.  
  
Brett voiced this aloud to John. "You're no longer a friend to me," he said, his deep voice full of contempt. The fire in his eyes fire raged even more. "Get out. Now."  
  
John scowled. His face was fierce, as he uttered his final words: "Gladly."  
  
He stayed one last second to continue glaring at his former friend. Then at last, he turned around and strode towards Arod. He put his foot in the stirrup and lifted himself onto his steed. "Yah!" he cried, steering him around and sending him off into a quick canter.  
  
And so John rode away from the countryside without a single glance back. He was completely furious . . . furious at Brett and himself as well.  
  
Brett watched in anger as John turned his back on him and rode off without another word. He continued to glare wrathfully at him as he rode off into the distance. At his sides, his hands were gripped into heavy fists that shook with hate.  
  
Large grey clouds rolled across the former clear blue skies. The light breeze began to build up into long, heavy gusts. The air grew colder, as the skies began to turn purple. Thunder sounded in the distance, as lightning flashed across the sky. Brett's horse reared onto his hind legs, and screeched as he galloped away in fear.  
  
In the midst of the chaotic atmosphere stood Brett, all alone. He stared furiously into the distance, lifted his face to the sky, and shouted in rage. "This isn't over yet, John Roxton!" he screamed insanely. "This isn't over yet!!" 


	12. A Sure Death?

APN: Whoo-hoo, I made it once again! Here's chapter twelve—I once again had trouble putting it all together . . . but hopefully, the trouble was all worth it! That of course, is decided by you guys, my faithful readers!  
  
Before I go on with chapter twelve, I just want to say that I was honestly disappointed in the fact that I only got six reviews for the last chapter. What happened? Seriously, did I do something wrong? If so, where did I go wrong? I can't improve if you guys don't give me things to improve on, you know! And if it isn't me, then . . . maybe it's just the fact that some people who are reading aren't reviewing. If that's true . . . come on, guys! Make a desperate girl happy and hit that review button! You know, it doesn't take that much! It's all at the simple click of a little button and a few typed words! That's all!  
  
Sorry if I sound disappointed, but . . . what can I say? But like I said, if it's something I'm doing, then someone please let me know!  
  
But anyways . . . I'd like to greatly thank the people who DID review!  
  
Jaclyn: I'm glad that you're enjoying the Brett storyline! Thank you so much for your encouraging words! And why wouldn't I write you a nice, beautiful review? A beautiful story sure deserves a beautiful review! I'm glad you like it! Keep working on your story, and I'll see ya next chapter! Thanks again, girl! :-)  
  
Evil Irish Eyes: WOOOOOOOWWWWWW! Thank you so much for the long, detailed review! And thank you once again for being so patient with me! ~blushes~ And no, I'm not the best, YOU'RE the best! You really are! LOL, and thanks for dealing with that weatherman . . . I'll be sure to drop you a line if he troubles me again (although I won't mention that fact that he's been bringing me some CRAPPY weather, lately!).  
  
And do hurry with your next chapter! I hope you know, I'm still desperately trying to keep my balance from falling off your cliffhanger! Aaaahhhhhhh!  
  
Lady Kate: Thank you for your support! And thank you for reading my lil story! Sorry if I take so long to update everything! RL is just sooooo hectic! But thanks again, and keep reading! :-)  
  
Crimson Cat & Gabbo: Ahhh, don't worry about not reviewing the past chapters! Like you guys said, better late than never! But I hope you'll continue reading and reviewing! Thanks a lot, guys!  
  
Audrey: Hehe, yeah, I'd say Brett's an idiot too! And I'm so sorry to disappoint you, but Marguerite doesn't come in until ch. 13! Please deal with my incompetence, I'm so sorry! You won't be disappointed next chapter, I promise!  
  
THANK YOU ALL AGAIN! You guys are great! So . . . chapter 12!  
  
Chapter Twelve—A Sure Death?  
  
That same night. . . .  
  
The time was now approaching midnight. The sky was dark, and the moon was out. The stars could not be seen, as a thick, heavy cloud covered the blackened heavens. The strong winds continued, their icy touch adding a harsh feeling to the eerie atmosphere.  
  
Warm and safe in his mansion, John Roxton rested in his spacious bedroom, lying silently atop his bed. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was soft and rhythmic.  
  
But he was not sleeping. Sleep would not come to him that night.  
  
John opened his eyes and stared up at the high ceiling of his bedroom. He sighed greatly, and wiped at the soreness in his eyes.  
  
Guilt was eating away at his soul. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the image in his mind of Brett, looking helpless, sad, and desperate.  
  
John shook his head and sat up on his bed. 'You're a fool, John!' his conscience cried, 'What have you done? You've abandoned your best friend!'  
  
'Former best friend,' John's mind whispered, as if replying to his conscience.  
  
But his guilty conscience continued: 'You've left him to die! He'll be slaughtered by the Newman Gang, when you could have prevented it all!'  
  
John fell back on his bed, his mattress shaking on the impact. The voices continued to harshly whisper in his head: 'You're a murderer, John. You're a merciless tyrant. How can you just sit back while somewhere out there, your friend is about to be killed?'  
  
The reply came quickly: 'Don't worry yourself over him, John. Brett is no longer a friend of yours. He said so himself, remember? And if you recall, he is the tyrant; he was the one who broke his promise to you. He was the one that used you for money. And he was the one who got himself into this whole mess with the Newmans. Don't get involved, John. Don't try to back him up anymore. Let him help himself get out of his own stupidity!'  
  
'No John! You must worry about Brett—for almost all through your friendship, he's depended on you greatly. He still depends on you, John! He still needs you! If you do not help him, he will surely die! Is your anger really more important than your mercy? Do you really hate Brett so much as to let him be killed? Is that how you really feel, John?'  
  
John shook his head. "Stop," he whispered, "please, stop it." He covered his ears with his hands and tightly shut his eyes.  
  
Suddenly, in the blackness of his head, another image of Brett appeared. "John!" he cried out, "John!" His face held the look of desperation. "Please John, help me! Don't let me be killed just like that! Don't abandon me now! Please . . . save me! You have to save me! Don't let me die, John! Have mercy on me! Mercy, I beg of you! Mercy!"  
  
Mercy. . . .  
  
John gasped as he opened his eyes and sat up straight. He began to pant for air.  
  
The image of Brett had disappeared. The voices were now silenced.  
  
"Good Lord," John moaned, and put his hand to his sweaty forehead. Taking his sleeve, he used it to wipe it dry.  
  
John was in distress. He had a desperate decision to make, and he had to make it now.  
  
He sat on the edge of his bed. His hands gripped the edge tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. He leaned his head down to his knees, as a battle of mercy versus anger raged in his head.  
  
But soon enough, John's conscience had won over his mind, and his decision was made.  
  
John sprung off of his bed as he hastily rose to his feet. He ran to his large wardrobe and began searching for certain clothes. Certain dark clothes. Certain clothes that would blend him into the shadows and camouflage him from the dim city streets of London.  
  
Finding what he needed, John quickly began to dress and change into his fresh clothing. Now fully dressed, he ran back to his bed and kneeled down on the cold floor. He reached out his arm under the bed, feeling for something hidden there.  
  
Suddenly, his reaching fingers brushed against something hard. He grabbed the object and pulled it out.  
  
It was a small, polished, wooden box.  
  
He carefully opened the lid of the box and gazed at its contents: a large amount of pounds resting in a large velvet pouch, and a fully loaded silver pistol.  
  
Taking these two items, John closed the box shut and pushed it back under his bed. He carefully put the pistol into a pocket of the inside of his jacket, and carried the large and heavy pouch in one of his hands.  
  
Satisfied, he ran to the large window of his room and looked down below, outside the safe properties of the Roxton Manor, and into the dangerous and sinister streets of London, concealed into the unknown darkness.  
  
"Hang on, Brett," he whispered, "I'm coming for you."  
  
  
  
Brett Jenkins stood alone, leaning against a single light post on the shadowy and lonely London streets. His body tensed nervously, as he lifted his cigar to his lips and breathed in deeply. He then exhaled, blowing the wispy smoke in the air.  
  
The streets of London, for the most part, were quiet, dark, empty, and concealed in shadows. The only source of light came from the dim light posts and the cloud-covered moon millions of miles high in the midnight sky.  
  
Along with the enveloping darkness, a thin cloud of fog had spread over the city as well, causing the atmosphere to be dank and gloomy. A forlorn breeze blew down in short and icy gusts.  
  
He shuddered and took another puff from his half-gone cigar. He rested his arm back down and flicked a few grey ashes to the cold cement sidewalk. He pulled his long jacket tighter, and tipped his hat down to cover his face.  
  
How quiet it was. It was almost too quite. The only noise to be heard was the scratching noises of dead, dry leaves as the wind scraped them across the brick-laden  
  
streets. . . .  
  
Suddenly, Brett's body tensed once again as he stood up and jumped back from the light post. He now heard the sound of footsteps, quickly approaching, walking towards him.  
  
Brett jammed his eyes shut in fear. The Newman Gang! They were here, and they were coming to get the money. The money that owed them . . . and the money he didn't have.  
  
He began to panic. What was he doing here? He knew he was going to be in deep trouble when they found out he didn't have the money. 'Why don't I run?' he thought frantically, 'why don't I just get out of here? Why did I even come here in the first place? Why did I even DO this in the first place?'  
  
And then, anger returned to him and blocked out his fear. John was the reason he was here now. John was the reason he borrowed the money in the first place. JOHN was the cause of everything. If he had only lent him the money like he had asked, he never would have been in this situation right now!  
  
'Yes. John.' Brett's fists shook madly. Suddenly made fearless by his strong anger, he stepped out of the shadows to confront Simon Boyd and his fellow members of their gang. . . .  
  
'Gang? What gang?' Brett thought, stepping back in surprise. There was only one person there!  
  
"Brett," said the person, stopping right in front of him. His face was partially concealed in the shadows.  
  
"Who . . . who are you?" asked Brett, narrowing his eyes. That voice sounded familiar.  
  
"A friend . . . I hope," came the reply, as the stranger stepped out of the shadows, revealing his true identity.  
  
Brett's facial expression went from pure surprise to sheer fury, as his eyes scanned over the person standing in front of him. "You!" he cried, clenching his teeth. "John Roxton!"  
  
John's face was grim. "Yes, Brett. It's me."  
  
Brett narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers at John. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "What the hell do you want now?"  
  
John held up the pouch of money in his hand. "I've come to apologize, and to bring you this—"  
  
Brett scowled. "I don't want your apology," he snarled fiercely. "We're finished."  
  
"Brett." came John's calm voice. His eyes were pleading. "I implore you, just hear me out."  
  
"No!" exclaimed Brett, turning away. "I told you our friendship was through. I want nothing to do with you any more. Now leave!"  
  
"Brett!" cried John, grabbing Brett's shoulders and twisting him around. "Will you stop it with this childish attitude for one minute? I need to talk to you!"  
  
Brett stared into John's face. He roughly shoved John's hand off his shoulder. "I told you to leave! And I mean now!"  
  
"No," persisted John, "not until you at least listen to what I have to say! And if I must, I'll personally force you to hear my every word!" He scowled as he pushed Brett against the brick wall of a corner shop. He once again held up the pouch of money in front of Brett's face. "This," he said, "is the money you need."  
  
Brett's eyes went from John's face to the velvet pouch. They rested there for a while, and then returned to John's face. "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Why now?"  
  
John sighed. "I was going to use this money as extra spending cash in Africa. My father booked my brother and I a trip there, this summer." He looked up and smiled softly. "We'll be going on an actual safari." His smile faded as he gazed down at Brett once again. "I'm doing this because I'm holding on you to keep your promise."  
  
Brett scoffed. "Promise. What promise?"  
  
"The promise you made saying you would honestly never gamble again." John raised his eyebrows. "Do you still keep to that promise, Brett?"  
  
Brett once again eyed the money. "If I don't. . . ?"  
  
John grasped the pouch in his fist and pulled it away. "Then I don't give you the money, and I leave you to deal with the Newmans on your own. And if you still truly believe that I am a betrayer—I'll turn around, and without looking back, I'll walk away from you for ever."  
  
Brett looked up. "And if I do?"  
  
John's face went completely serious. He held the pouch back up. "Then I give you the money—my money, that was to be used for my own personal spending—and save your ass from these criminals. And then perhaps—we can mend our broken friendship and trust, and try again." He paused, studying the challenged expression on Brett's face. "It's either one or the other, Brett. You decide."  
  
Brett's eyes gazed down to the pouch of money once again. There it was, his only lifeline, sitting right in front of him! He could take it . . . and all of his troubles would be over.  
  
Well, almost all of his troubles. He still had John to deal with.  
  
Oh yes . . . John Roxton, formerly his best friend. But all that had changed dramatically. John was no longer a friend to him—only a bitter enemy, and a traitor. He knew his hate for John had been only short-lived. But it was deep . . . deep, and growing deeper still.  
  
Yes, he could take the money. He could take the money and walk away now . . . and deal with John later. Or . . . he could not take the money—the money that belonged to his enemy.  
  
His enemy.  
  
Brett's mind once again clouded with hate and fury. 'He must think I'm a fool!' he cried in his head, 'a bloody fool! But no . . . HE is the fool here!'  
  
What did John think he was doing? This was definitely a trick! It was all an enormous ruse; a game that John was playing with his mind. John was not his friend! He wasn't now, and he wouldn't be so ever again!  
  
'But the money!' The thought still nagged at the back of his mind.  
  
Brett closed his eyes. 'Forget the money,' he decided, 'forget the money! I shall not take from a scoundrel and a snake!' His mind was made up.  
  
While he stood and thought, John waited impatiently. "Well, Brett?" he finally asked, prodding his silent friend. "What will it be?"  
  
Brett suddenly opened his eyes, the fire raging furiously once again! He glared up into John's eyes, took a breath . . . and sent a huge glob of spit flying into John's face.  
  
John gasped, and staggered backwards in surprise. The pouch of money fell from his hands and hit the concrete ground. The pouch split open on impact, sending the numerous coins noisily rolling away.  
  
John's eyes were wide. His mouth was open. He stared at Brett, who was scowling evilly across from him. "Your offer's been declined," he hissed venomously, "and my decision's been made." He paused. "Now walk away, just like you said you would, and leave!"  
  
John's continued to stand in surprise and silence. His fists were at his sides, shaking madly with fury. He lifted a shaking arm to his face, and wiped the spit flowing down his cheek.  
  
He was furious! The look of astonishment on his face turned to absolute rage. He opened his mouth to say something, when suddenly. . . .  
  
Two beams of bright, yellow light shone over them, nearly blinding them in the process. A car appeared in the distance, and was slowly cruising towards them. Following that car were three more cars speeding behind it.  
  
The four cars abruptly stopped in the middle of the empty road. Out of each car stepped out five men. All the men were tall and dark; each mysteriously dressed in long, dark-coloured trench coats. They all wore wide-brimmed hats, pulled down over their faces to avoid being identified. And in their hands, they all carried . . . guns?  
  
The Newman Gang!  
  
John quickly realized this, as he shielded his eyes from the bright head beams of the cars. Wasting no more time, he ran out of the spotlight and ducked into an alleyway, concealed in complete darkness. His dark clothes had provided him well, as he blended into the shadows almost perfectly.  
  
He ducked in behind a large dumpster, and poked his head around the corner, watching warily as the Newmans approached Brett, who was once again standing all alone.  
  
Brett turned his back from the strong light, and spun back around after noticing John's sudden absence. "John?" he called out, his voice sounding small and meek.  
  
Now that the Newman Gang had appeared, the anger and fury in Brett's mind had been pushed away by sudden fear. He was now back to his senses . . . and was now regretting what he had done.  
  
"John? John!" Brett cried aloud, spinning around and searching for the man. "John!!"  
  
Suddenly, he caught a small glimpse of John's partially concealed face, as he ducked around the corner of the garbage dumpster. "John!" he hopefully cried, stepping forward to run to him . . . but was blocked by a man who stepped right in front of him.  
  
The mysterious man brought a cigar up to his lips and took a large puff. He exhaled, bowing the smoke right into Brett's face. "Mr. Jenkins, I presume?" the man inquired in his deep voice.  
  
Brett gulped. "Y-yes," he stammered, "that's my name."  
  
The man lifted his hat off his head, revealing his face to Brett, who seemed to vaguely recognize him. "I do believe . . . that you owe me some money that you borrowed some time ago." He paused to study Brett's frightened expression. "Do you not?"  
  
Brett looked down and nodded. "Yes," came his panicky reply. He slowly looked upwards into the man's face.  
  
This was the Big Man. The Head Honcho. This was the leader of the Newman Gang! Mr. Daniel Newman himself!  
  
"I . . . I'm sorry, Mr. Newman," spoke Brett, who began to shake nervously. "I don't . . . I don't have your money."  
  
Suddenly, he darted around and turned his back on Newman, and sprang forwards to run away. But he was immediately blocked by the rest of the gang, who all held up their guns and surrounded him into a small, tight circle. "Going somewhere?" asked another man, stepping into the illumination of the light post, revealing his identity.  
  
Brett gasped. "Simon!" he cried.  
  
Simon Boyd nodded accordingly. "Where's the money, Jenkins?" he demanded, shoving the barrel of the gun into Brett's shoulder.  
  
"I told you," replied Brett, backing away nervously, "I don't have it!"  
  
  
  
"Where's the money, Jenkins?"  
  
John once again took a chance at peeking around the dumpster, where he saw the Newman Gang enclose around Brett dangerously. He also noted the guns aimed directly at Brett. "Brett. . . ." he whispered.  
  
He was still completely angry at what Brett had done. He had never felt such anger in his whole life—ever. The feeling of hate was new to him, as was the feeling of betrayal.  
  
He would never forget what Brett did to him that night.  
  
"I told you, I don't have it!" echoed Brett's anxious voice.  
  
John quietly scoffed. 'He had his chance,' he thought, 'and he refused it. The blighter!' He looked the opposite way, down the dark alley. The alley ran between two shops and lead directly to Henry Boulevard. This area was familiar to him, and if he was quiet enough, he could escape and find his way home from here.  
  
John quietly rose from his squatting position, and moved to leave the alleyway. But right at that moment, something inside of him made him stop. Reluctantly, he turned back around to peek at the frightful scene around the corner.  
  
He watched silently as Simon Boyd jammed his gun into Brett's shoulder. John gulped, realizing that the situation was becoming tenser.  
  
"Where's the money?!" he heard Simon demand again, suddenly grabbing Brett's shoulders and roughly shoving him into the brick wall in behind them. "What happened to it?!"  
  
Brett clenched his teeth in pain. "I . . . I lost it," he mumbled, squirming against the wall. "I lost it at the casino! I accidentally gambled it away . . . I'm sorry. . . ."  
  
Mr. Newman calmly took another puff from his cigar, and slowly walked towards Brett. He once again blew the smoke from his cigar into his face. "You gambled my money away, did you?"  
  
Brett turned silent.  
  
Newman turned to Simon. "Was he warned what would happen, should he not follow the rules and pay me back by the deadline?"  
  
Simon nodded. "He was warned fair and square," he replied, glaring at Brett threateningly.  
  
Newman looked back up at Brett. "You willingly disobeyed my rules, then," he declared, ominously glaring at the pinned-up Brett, "and disobedience comes with consequences."  
  
Nervous trails of sweat trailed down Brett's forehead. "What . . . what's going to happen to me?" he frantically asked, "what are you going to do to me?"  
  
Newman placed his hand on Simon's shoulder, and nodded at him accordingly. After giving Brett another long, frightening stare, he turned to his men. "Come on, boys. Let's go. We're finished, here."  
  
The 'boys' slowly lowered their guns in unison. Putting them back in their holsters, they followed their boss's command, as they turned around and walked back towards their cars.  
  
The only man that stayed behind was Simon. He shoved Brett harder into the wall, and moved his gun from Brett's shoulder to Brett's throat. "You were warned, fool," he hissed maliciously. His finger began to press the trigger.  
  
"No!" cried Brett, struggling to break free of Simon's grasp. He turned his head to gaze into the alleyway, where he saw John watching, still standing in the shadows. "John!" he cried desperately. "John! Help me!"  
  
  
  
"John! Help me!"  
  
John turned his head away in the opposite direction. His former friend—his new enemy—stood almost metres before him, about to be shot and killed.  
  
Did he really hate Brett so much as to let him die?  
  
John sighed as he put his hands to his head. He stood in the dark, as he made the hardest decision he had ever made in his life.  
  
He looked once again over at Brett, who was struggling against the wall. "John!" cried Brett, noticing John looking over at him. "What are you waiting for? Help me!"  
  
But John didn't move. He only stared at Brett disappointingly. And then, he turned around, and slowly began to move down the alley, and walk away.  
  
Brett's eyes widened in horror. "John! Don't walk away from me like this! John! Johhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnn . . . !"  
  
BANG!!!!  
  
John stopped in his tracks as the shot ended. He closed his eyes, and suddenly dropped to his knees. He buried his face in his hands, as he began to quietly sob.  
  
He had made his decision, which was to keep to the words he promised Brett earlier.  
  
He had walked away. For ever. 


	13. The Truth Comes Out

APN: Whoo-hoo . . . hey everyone, I made it here at last! I've got chapter 13 here, and I've got exactly what I promise . . . yes, Marguerite actually appears in this chapter! Yaaay! (winks at Audrey).  
  
Again, I wanna say . . . I'm still disappointed with the reviews I've been receiving. Not for the reviews I did receive—everyone who reviewed, you've got my sincerest gratitude and respect—but to those who didn't review, well, I'm kind of sad. But hey, what can I do? I could stop posting the rest of the chapters, but honestly, I don't want to, and I'm not going to, either. I don't want to disappoint the—let me count—the six people that actually have been dropping me a line. To those six—I can't thank you enough. Seriously, I love you guys! You're the only reason I've kept on writing! Thank you, once again.  
  
A note to my faithful reviewers:  
  
  
  
Audrey: hey girl! Glad you ended up reviewing . . . better late than never, right? Right! And yes-yes, don't worry . . . like I said before, Marguerite is in this chapter! Whoo-hoo! Thanks for staying faithful to me by reviewing! It really means a lot to me!  
  
And hey . . . I haven't seen your story around for a while. I hope you post your next chapter soon! I hope you don't have writer's block, like I do! LOL. Hope to see your next chapter soon!  
  
  
  
Evil Irish Eyes: LOL . . . you'd better watch it there, chickie . . . I don't think that Marguerite likes you getting so close to her Roxton! ROFL! But anyways . . . *throws down rope to hanging EIE, who grabs it and climbs up to top of 10000000000000000-mile-high cliff* eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Come here, girl! *strangles EIE with hug* OMG, I LOOOOOOOOVED your last review! Seriously, it made my whole week—actually, make that my whole month! I'm so happy that you like this story so far, and I'm so glad that you've been so patient with me! I can't thank you enough! Truly, YOU are the best . . . EVER! I mean it! And HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I'm so sorry, I'm just laughing at the fact that anyone can be jealous of *me*! Yeah right! EIE, I am jealous of YOU, girl! That green-eyed monster has got me in its jaws! You always get these great reviews . . . and you have an awesome story . . . ahhhh! You're so lucky! But hey, you deserve everything you get! Really, you do. You're an awesome writer, and an awesome girl! I'm serious. Thank you for everything!  
  
Speaking of your story . . . how's the next chapter making out? I really hope to see it posted soon! I can't WAIT! YA-HAHAHAHA!  
  
Thank you AGAIN for your awesome reviews. You are THE best of THE best. Until next time, EIE!  
  
Lady Kate: Hehe, don't worry! You didn't seem rude at all! :-) I'm glad you're still keeping up with my story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope to see another review from you soon! Thank you sooooo much! :-)  
  
  
  
A. Windsor and Wdge: Hey guys, what's up?! Thanks for reviewing, as usual! You guys are GREAT! And don't worry—your questions about Brett will be answered very soon, I promise! At least, I hope you don't die of boredom before I get there! LOL, no, I'm kidding . . . the answer will come soon! Hope to hear from you guys soon!  
  
  
  
Steph: Hey there . . . I'm glad you decided to review! LOL, I hope you keep going . . . you're on a role, now! Thank you! And about Roxton . . . yeah, I found his mercilessness to be out of his character, too. Hmmm . . . I think I should work on it. But thank you for the suggestion/correction. I really appreciate it when people do that and try to help me out . . . I know I'm not a professional writer, but hey, no one's perfect! Least of all me! Thank again! Hope to see another review from ya soon!  
  
  
  
THANK YOU AGAIN, to everyone who reviewed. Please bear with my tardiness . . . I hope that it doesn't discourage you from reading! I hope you all enjoy the next chapter . . . and I'll hopefully hear from you all when you review! *Hint-hint—wink-wink*. And here's . . . chapter thirteen! Enjoy!  
  
  
  
Chapter Thirteen—The Truth Comes Out  
  
"John! John! John. . . !"  
  
The blackness of the alleyway began to fade away, as Roxton opened his tear- stricken eyes. He looked down at Jenkins, who smiled from the ground maniacally at seeing Roxton's pain.  
  
"Roxton! What's the matter with you?" Veronica took hold of Roxton's shoulders and madly began to shake him. "Snap out of it!"  
  
Aside, Challenger, who had his rifle aimed at Jenkins, watched Roxton curiously. 'It's completely obvious that John knows who this man is,' thought Challenger, 'but how? How did this stranger come to the plateau, and why?' Challenger's mind trailed off as he thought of questions, many questions that would have to remain unanswered, for now. He let his rifle slowly drop.  
  
Jenkins, noticing the deep-in-thought Challenger, the oblivious Roxton, and the anxious Veronica trying to snap him back into reality, suddenly saw his chance. Scowling and clenching his teeth, he pulled his pinned-down wrist out of Roxton's grasp. He formed his free hand into a tight fist, and with a loud shout, rammed it into Roxton's face.  
  
"Unh!" Roxton groaned as his head connected with the ground below. His eyes fell shut once again, as he lost his consciousness and blacked out.  
  
Veronica's eyes widened in surprise. "No!" she shouted, and sprang up from her crouching position. She grabbed a knife that was resting in her boot, and held it out defensively in front of her.  
  
Unfortunately, Jenkins was quicker. He jumped up to his feet, and grabbed his fallen gun off the ground. As Veronica swung in her arm to attack him with her knife, he blocked the attack with his rifle and twisted it around, making the knife fly out of the surprised Veronica's hand.  
  
"You're fast, my lovely," said Jenkins as he sickly gazed at Veronica from head to toe, grinning wickedly, "but not as fast as me!" He kept his grin as he gripped his rifle and swung it through the air, whacking Veronica on the side of her head.  
  
"Haughn!" Veronica cried as she dizzily collapsed to the ground. "Ohhh," she groaned in pain, touching her sore head, "Challenger . . . do something. . . !" she managed to cry out, before she too fell unconscious.  
  
Challenger was already on it. "Don't you move!" he growled in a harsh voice, as Jenkins moved to escape, thrusting his rifle forward in his direction.  
  
Jenkins stopped in his tracks. He turned around to face Challenger, and laughed unkindly. "My, you sure healed quickly, old man," he said curtly, gesturing to Challenger's chest where his wound lay wrapped underneath his clothing. He laughed again as he saw the surprised expression on Challenger's face.  
  
Challenger narrowed his eyes. "You. . . ." he growled, "it was you who was outside that night! You were watching the treehouse . . . and you were the one that shot me!"  
  
"Affirmative, my dear Challenger," replied Jenkins as he grinned once again, "That's George Challenger, isn't it? Head of the Challenger Expedition?"  
  
Challenger scowled, stepping forward. "Why were you watching the treehouse?" he demanded. "Why are you even here in the first place? What do you want?"  
  
Jenkins gaze suddenly fell to the ground, where he stared at the unconscious Roxton. "The Honourable Lord John Roxton." He paused. "He knows why I'm here, and what I've come to do. Ask him."  
  
"What does John Roxton have to do with any of this?"  
  
Jenkins sneered. "That's for me to know . . . and for you to find out." And at that moment, Jenkins whirled around and took off into a run.  
  
"Not so fast!" shouted Challenger, as he spontaneously pressed the trigger on his rifle.  
  
A shot rang out, and a sharp cry pierced the air.  
  
Challenger frowned as he lowered his smoking rifle. He had managed to shoot Jenkins in the leg, sending him into a limp as he struggled to run away.  
  
"That should slow him down," said Challenger, squinting as he looked into the distance. He then turned to the unconscious Roxton, and ran to his aid. He bent down in front of him and turned him over. "Roxton," he softly called. He examined the large bruise on John's forehead. "You took quite a hard punch, my friend," he said, smiling slightly, "but you'll be okay."  
  
Next, Challenger turned to Veronica. He went to his knees, and gently turned Veronica's head to the side. "Oh, Veronica," he gasped, as he saw the blood drip down the side of Veronica's head.  
  
"Ohhh. . . ." A sudden groan emerged from Veronica, as she moved her head and groggily opened her eyes.  
  
"Shh, Veronica," came Challenger's calming voice, as he gently held her head still, "it's okay, my dear. Just lay still for a moment."  
  
"Challenger. . . ?" moaned Veronica, squinting up at the man leaning above her. "What happened? What's going on . . . and why does my head hurt so much?"  
  
Challenger smiled encouragingly down at the jungle beauty. "Everything's okay, Veronica. You've just suffered a very minor concussion, but you'll be all right."  
  
"Concussion?" asked a surprised Veronica, as she moved her hand up to touch her sore head. Her eyes went wide as her fingers felt the sticky blood. She brought back her hand and gasped at seeing the red blood on her fingertips. "Oh my God. . . ."  
  
"Shh, it's alright, Veronica," said Challenger, removing a few bloody locks of blonde hair that stuck to her wound, "it's alright." He sighed as he got up and walked towards a tree, where he had dropped the first-aid kit when Jenkins had surprised them. "It's a good thing you convinced me to bring this," said Challenger, bending down once again to clean and bandage Veronica's wound.  
  
Veronica winced as Challenger cleaned Veronica's wound. "How's Roxton?" she asked anxiously, "is he okay?"  
  
Challenger took out some cotton gauze from the first-aid kit. "Roxton's going to be just fine," replied Challenger, "he's also suffered from a small head injury—just a rather large punch in the face, that's all."  
  
Veronica frowned. "Did you see that look in his eyes, when he saw that man's face?" she asked. "Something happened to him . . . it was as if he just shut down inside! Either that or he stared into the face of a ghost!"  
  
"A ghost indeed," Challenger mumbled, shaking his head. After making sure Veronica's wound was properly cleaned, he lightly set the gauze on Veronica's head. "No. Roxton definitely knew that man—what did he say his name was?"  
  
"Brett Jenkins," Veronica replied.  
  
"Brett Jenkins. . . ." Challenger repeated. He turned over to where Roxton lay silently, and then looked down at the ground. "It looks like Roxton has his secrets as well." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Roxton. But I'm afraid that this can't stay a secret any longer. Not only is it a threat to you . . . it has become a threat to all of us as well."  
  
  
  
Marguerite sighed with satisfaction, as she smiled and put her hands behind her head and leaned back in her chair. "Ah," she said as she put up her feet on a chair sitting opposite to her.  
  
She was lounging outside on the balcony. It was a lovely day today . . . the sun was shining, and there was a nice, cool breeze. There wasn't even a single cloud in the sky.  
  
It was literally the perfect day. Even the recovering Challenger had gone out for some fresh air, with Veronica and John to watch over him. So, she thought, if they went out to enjoy the day . . . why shouldn't she?  
  
Marguerite smiled to herself again. She turned her head to the side, and called out: "Ned! Oh, Ned. . . ."  
  
Malone suddenly came rushing out of the treehouse and stood on the balcony beside the reclining heiress. He paused to pant for air. "Yes, Marguerite?" he asked.  
  
"Ned." Marguerite put on her innocent face. "Would you be a dear and get me another cup of herbal tea with honey?" Her voice sung out sweetly.  
  
"Again, Marguerite?" asked an incredulous Malone. "I was in the middle of writing something in my journals. Would you mind getting it yourself this time? I mean, there's nothing wrong with your legs, is there?" Malone sighed as Marguerite pouted her lips. "Oh, all right. Sure thing, Marguerite—one cup of hot herbal tea with honey coming right up." He turned back to step into the treehouse, and suddenly paused. "Can I get you anything else, Your Highness?" He smiled jokingly.  
  
Marguerite's face lit up. "Mmm, that would be lovely, Malone! Do we have any leftover raptor meat?"  
  
Malone raised his eyebrows. Herbal tea with honey and raptor meat? "Uh, yeah, I believe so."  
  
Marguerite beamed. "Good. I'll have some of that, then . . . with strawberries and whipped cream on top. . . ."  
  
At that moment, Malone's stomach lurched. "What!" he exclaimed. "Marguerite, are you serious?!"  
  
Marguerite's smile twisted into a frown. "Quite serious," she replied, giving him a small glare.  
  
Ned's eyes widened. "Marguerite! That . . . that's disgusting!" he cried. "And where, might I ask, do you suppose I'll find strawberries? Or whipped cream, for that matter?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know." Marguerite shrugged. "But you're a smart man. I'm sure you can find strawberries . . . or figure out a way to make whipped cream. Right?"  
  
Malone chortled. "Uh . . . right." He shook his head. 'It must be the pregnancy talking,' he thought, 'Challenger warned us all that this would happen. But raptor meat with strawberries and whipped cream!' He shuddered. "Is there anything else I can get you, Marguerite?"  
  
Marguerite looked up in thought. She grinned as she thought of the wild turkey Roxton had brought home yesterday. Yes . . . she would ask Malone to take out its gizzard and fry it for her! She licked her lips in anticipation . . . turkey gizzards, if spiced properly and cooked to perfection, would be delicious! They would be nice and brown and crispy and. . . .  
  
"Oh!" Marguerite suddenly cried, gasping as she put her hand to her lower abdomen.  
  
Malone jumped to attention. "Marguerite. . . ?" he ran to her side and bent down. "Are you alright?" He gulped. "It's not . . . it's not time yet . . . is it?"  
  
Marguerite turned to look at Malone's frightened face, and burst into laughter. "Oh no! Malone, you silly boy . . . of course it's not time yet!" She giggled as Malone sighed in relief. "No . . . we've still got two months, at least, until this little guy or little girl comes out." She gently patted her swollen abdomen. "This little fellow just gave me a small kick, that's all."  
  
She turned to Malone and smiled. "Ned . . . would you like to feel the kick?"  
  
"Oh . . . what . . . huh?" the innocent Malone asked, his voice quivering as he blushed. "Well . . . sure, if you really don't mind. . . ."  
  
"Ned. Of course I don't mind. Here, give me your hand." Marguerite took Malone's shaky hand and gently set it on her abdomen. "That's it, right there. Now wait for it. . . ."  
  
Suddenly, Malone felt a little jolt underneath the palm of his hand, as the baby inside of Marguerite gave another kick. "Whoa!" he cried, and smiled up at Marguerite. "Wow. I felt that one!" He smiled again. "Your son or daughter sure is pretty strong."  
  
Marguerite looked at her abdomen and smiled. "Well, they've got their father's strong legs," she said, and giggled once again.  
  
"Oh, Marguerite. I'm so happy for you and John. Really, I am." Ned put a friendly had on Marguerite's shoulder.  
  
Marguerite's eyes sparkled, as her smile broadened. "You don't know how much that means to me, Malone. Thank you."  
  
"Don't mention it, Marguerite—"  
  
All of a sudden, the loud clanking noises of the elevator ascending interrupted their warm conversation. "Hey, it looks like they're back!" said Malone, slowly rising up from his kneeling position. "Come on, let's go inside to greet them." He extended his hand, and Marguerite took it. He gently pulled her up from her chair. "Thanks, Malone," she said.  
  
"Like I said before—don't mention it." He smiled, thankful that Marguerite had forgotten about her bizarre appetite for the moment.  
  
Marguerite held a secure hand against her abdomen as she walked back into the treehouse with Malone. "Good afternoon, everybody!" she breezily said in a singsong voice as she strode towards the elevator. "So, how was your little walk—" Marguerite abruptly gasped as she saw Challenger and a wounded Veronica gently lift an unconscious Roxton out of the elevator.  
  
Malone's eyes widened, as Marguerite shrieked. "Oh my God . . . what happened to him?!" Marguerite ran over to Roxton, as Challenger and Veronica set him on his feet.  
  
"Easy, Marguerite," cautioned Challenger, "he's still a little unsteady."  
  
"John . . . oh God, John!" Marguerite took his limp arm and swung it around her shoulders. She led him out to the balcony and settled him in the chair she had been sitting in. The others followed suit, and gathered around the chair.  
  
Roxton groaned, as he felt Marguerite stroke his cheek. "Oh . . . Marguerite. . . ?"  
  
Marguerite swallowed nervously as she took his hand and put it on her face. "Yes, John, it's me. I'm here." She moved his hand to her lips and kissed it.  
  
Malone turned to Veronica and Challenger. "What happened to John?" he worriedly inquired. As his eyes came to Veronica's injured head, he gasped. "Veronica! What happened to you?!" He softly touched the bandaged area on Veronica's head.  
  
Veronica sighed. "Malone . . . we were attacked."  
  
"Attacked!" Malone exclaimed. "By whom?" He turned to look at Challenger, who cleared his throat. Malone nodded as he began to realize. "Was it . . . was it the same person that shot you, Challenger?"  
  
Challenger nodded. "Yes, Malone. It was the same man."  
  
"But . . . how do you know for sure?"  
  
"Simply because he told me so," replied Challenger, frowning deeply.  
  
Marguerite looked up at Challenger. "Who is this man?" she suddenly demanded, narrowing her eyes in anger. "Who is this bastard that keeps attacking us? And what does he want with John, or any of us, for that matter?!"  
  
Veronica stepped forward. "His name is Brett Jenkins," she replied, "we know that much." She gave Marguerite and Malone a sympathetic smile. "Marguerite, Ned . . . we don't mean to alarm you or anything, but . . . Roxton recognized him."  
  
Marguerite gasped as she turned to the awakening Roxton. "John . . . knows this man?" she asked in surprise.  
  
Challenger nodded. "We believe so, Marguerite. As soon as Roxton laid his eyes on this man . . . he yelled out his name, just before going into shock. He blanked out for a while. It was as if Roxton went through some sort of nervous breakdown."  
  
Marguerite paid attention to Challenger as he continued recounting the whole story. She turned white, as she tightly gripped Roxton's hand. She made no sound until Challenger had finished telling her everything. "So this Brett Jenkins came to the Plateau looking for Roxton," she concluded, frowning grimly.  
  
Challenger slowly began to nod. "We have very good reason to believe so, Marguerite."  
  
"But why?" asked a confused Malone, as he furrowed his brow and looked up at Challenger. "Why would this Jenkins character come all the way to the Plateau just to find and hurt Roxton? And if it's Roxton he wants, then why bother to attack us?"  
  
Challenger returned Malone's gaze. "The answer is quite simple, Malone. This man wants revenge. And he'll do anything to get it . . . even if it means hurting Roxton's loved ones, like us."  
  
Roxton, who was now awake and had been listening to the ongoing conversation,  
  
sighed, and opened his eyes. "He's right," he groaned, as he sat up in his chair, "Challenger's right."  
  
Marguerite jerked her head back to look at Roxton. "John!" she cried, and encircled her arms around his shoulders. She buried her face on his chest. "You had us so worried," she sighed, and moved her hand to stroke his face.  
  
"Oh, Marguerite," Roxton breathed, as he leaned his head down and kissed Marguerite's forehead. He ran a hand through her soft, curly hair.  
  
"John."  
  
Both Roxton and Marguerite looked up at Challenger's stern face. Roxton frowned. "Challenger . . . I believe I have some sort of explanation in order."  
  
"Yes indeed!" cried Challenger, as he pulled a chair beside Roxton and abruptly sat down. "And you can start by telling who your friend was—I believe his name was Brett Jenkins."  
  
Roxton cleared his throat. "Yes. Brett Jenkins."  
  
Veronica glared down at Roxton. "He could have killed you, John!" she cried, putting her hands on her hips. "He could have killed me, John! Or Challenger! God, he could have killed as all . . . who is this guy, Roxton? Who is he?"  
  
Roxton looked down at the floor. "Brett Jenkins . . . we grew up together, back in London. We used to be friends."  
  
"Used to be?" Malone asked, intrigued. "Why . . . what happened?"  
  
Marguerite sighed as she studied Roxton's haggard and worn-out face. She placed her hand on his. "John," she said, looking him in the eye, "I—out of all people in this world—know how hard it is to reveal dark secrets from the past. We all know that." She squeezed his hand. "But John . . . you can trust me. You can trust us. You've got to know that."  
  
Roxton looked up from the floor, and sadly smiled at Marguerite. "Marguerite . . . of course I know, Love. Of course I know." He sat up straight in his chair, and taking a breath, he looked them all in the eye one at a time, and began his story, telling them everything. 


	14. The Attack

APN: July 30, 2002: Okay everyone, I had to update this because something strange happened to the format of my story . . . for some reason, it was all clumped together with no indentations. I don't know why that happened, but hopefully, this should fix it! If it doesn't, well . . . it's not my fault. I'm sorry you had to read it like that, but . . . I have no clue how to fix it-even if it can be fixed.  
  
Thanks for your patience . . . and please don't forget to write me a nice, long review!  
  
As written on July 25, 2002: Well HELLO, everyone! Wow, I can't believe it . . . I'm FINALLY back! I wish I could tell you all how busy I've been, with exams (okay, okay, that was more than a month ago, I know!), vacations, friends and family and so much more, but . . . I would be writing here forever. But just know that I'm back, and I'm back for good! LOL, I don't know how many of you will like that, but . . . I'm sure you can deal with me, right? Hehehe.  
  
About the reviews I received last chapter . . . OH MY GOSH! You guys, I can't tell you how pleased I was at the large number I received! Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who took the time to review . . . thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!! I love you all! Let me just take some more time here to thank each and everyone of you who reviewed:  
  
  
  
Jessie-- hey there! Thank you so much for your friendly review! I'm glad you like the story so far-and I'm glad you like the part when Marguerite tells everyone she's pregnant. I actually got that idea from Xena: Warrior Princess, which is one of my favourite shows! So, here's the next chapter for ya. Hope you like it as much as you liked the others! :-)  
  
  
  
Jaclyn-MY GIRL JACLYN! Hey, whazzup?! OHM, when I read your review I was about to cry with joy . . . someone actually likes my story! LOL! Thank you SO, SO, SO, SO much for your detailed review! I LOVED IT! Just as much as I loved your story, "Severed". And just as much as I loved "Melancholy"! Wow, you are SUCH a good writer! I'm in awe! LOL. I hope to see another great review from you after you read this! I hope you like it! Talk you ya later!  
  
  
  
I-LOVE-ROXTON-Well, thank you for your review! It was both short and sweet! Here is chapter 14 for ya, and I hope you enjoy it! :-)  
  
  
  
Stacy-hey! I'm glad you like the idea of me picking on Roxton's past instead of poor Margy's, LOL. Thanks so much for your review; I appreciated it a lot! Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
  
  
  
Gabbo-Hey there, what's going on? About your questions-all I can say is that they will be answered all in due time! But I agree with your point . . . why can't these LW people just stay dead? LOL. Enjoy chapter 14!  
  
  
  
Wdge-glad to see that you're still interested! Thanks for the review. Yep, Jenkins is still alive! His next step is not only Marguerite, but . . . well, you'll see! I have quite the plot going on now, and I hope you'll enjoy it!  
  
  
  
A. Windsor-LOL, glad you liked Marguerite's crazy appetite! I figured I needed some humour to throw in with the dark stuff. Thanks for the review! And keep up the good work with your story, I love it so far!  
  
  
  
Lady Primrose Roxton-wow, thank you for being the seventh person to actually start reviewing! LOL. No seriously-I appreciated it so much! Thank you! I hope you like the next chapter, and I hope to see another review from you again!  
  
  
  
Pam-hey Pam, what's going on? Glad you liked the last chapter. Here's the next one for you; I hope you enjoy this one as much as the last one. Thanks for the review!  
  
  
  
Ryalin-Hey there! Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad that you enjoyed Marguerite's wacky food cravings. A little humour in a dark story is nice sometimes, eh? (Yes I am Canadian, if that's what you are now wondering-LOL). Hope to see another review from ya!  
  
  
  
LadyKate-I'm glad that you managed to read my story before going to bed, LOL! Thank you for checking one last time! And you think my story is the best so far? *wipes a tear* I'm honoured! Thank you soooo much! Hope to hear from you after this chapter-sorry I've been gone so long! LOL. Bye now!  
  
  
  
Brandy Leigh-hey there! LOL, don't worry about not reviewing the other chapters before. Better late than never, I always say! Let's just hope that you keep reviewing, right? LOL. And hey, where's Mayhem Mountain? Haven't seen it for a while-hope to see and read it soon!  
  
  
  
CrimsonCat-Hehehe, I'm glad that you like my sound effects! "Haughn"-LOL! My friend made that one up actually, and I just borrowed it from her. LOL. About your questions of R/M's baby-all will be answered in due time! I'll tell you this much, though-I've got my idea written down about what I'll make the baby, and it'll be quite a surprise! I say this because no one has ever put it in their ff before (at least I haven't read one yet). That'll probably give it away! If you figure out what I'm talking about . . . ssssshhh! Don't let the answer out, okay? LOL. Hope to hear from you again!  
  
  
  
Steph-hey there! Glad you like chapter 13 with Marguerite's zany food cravings! About your questions . . . yes, Roxton will recover for the time being! I have quite a few things in store for him, but . . . LOL, I'll keep him nice and clean, don't worry! LOL! Hope you enjoy chapter 14!  
  
  
  
Evil Irish Eyes-gasps! No, no, no! Eileen, don't jump! PLEASE! I've got my story right here for ya! Just like I promised! Here you go! LOL. I'm honoured that you think my name is so pretty-I could definitely say the same for yours! :-) And please, please, please don't be jealous of me! Don't let that green- eyed monster get to you! Seriously, there's nothing I have that you don't! You have so much more, and I am so much in awe of you, Miss Eileen! And Shrek . . . LOL. You are 110% prettier than him! Well, I've never seen you before, but I still know! LOL. Hehe, we did post our story around the same time! You know what they say- great minds think alike! Hehe. Well, I'd best be running. I hope you like this chapter . . . and I hope you post the next chapter of your story very soon as well! Until then!  
  
  
  
Okay everyone . . . here's CHAPTER 14!!!!  
  
  
  
Chapter Fourteen-The Attack  
  
Days slowly and painfully turned into weeks, from the time when the encounter with Jenkins had occurred. No one had seen or heard him since. The security and caution of the treehouse had since boosted tremendously; no one went outside unless it was completely necessary-and no one dared to leave the treehouse alone. The explorers went out in pairs, and were armed as best as they could. However, Marguerite got the worst of it; everyone agreed that besides Roxton, she was the biggest target of them all, especially because of the fact that she was carrying Roxton's child. Marguerite was extremely flustered and put up quite a fight, but no one would hear her. She was not allowed to go outside at all. She was also not to go near the windows of the treehouse, in fear that Jenkins could be hidden in the thick brush of the jungle and would make an attempt to snipe her out. So she spent most of the time in her room, sitting on her bed in boredom and anger. "I'm like a prisoner in my own house!" she grumpily exclaimed. "Marguerite," Roxton said sternly, "my love, this is only for your own good." The heiress threw her hands up in the air. "I know, Roxton!" she cried. "I know! It's just that I can't stand the fact that some psycho is out there watching us, and waiting for an opportunity to strike!" she sighed. "And what's pathetic about the whole thing is that he's only one man! How can one man be such a threat to the five of us?" "This is no ordinary man, Marguerite," replied Roxton, "remember . . . he's supposed to be dead! He was shot! I remember it like it was yesterday!" Marguerite raised her eyebrows. "John . . . you were in the alleyway. It was pitch black. You had your back turned, and you were walking away. You didn't actually see him get shot, did you?" Roxton sighed, as his gaze dropped down to the floor. "No," he said quietly. Marguerite nodded. "Then how can you be so sure that he really died that night?" Roxton's silence remained as he frowned deeply, and sat on the corner of the bed he shared with Marguerite. "Oh, John," sighed Marguerite, sitting beside her hunter. She touched his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. "We'll get him, John. We will . . . I promise." She smiled encouragingly. "Pregnant or not . . . I'll make sure that sick bastard doesn't harm a hair on any of us." Roxton turned his head and smiled, as he lovingly gazed at Marguerite. He stroked her soft face, and planted his lips on hers. "I love you, Marguerite," he whispered. His hand made its way down her body, and rested on her large abdomen. "My God!" he suddenly exclaimed, as he felt the baby inside of her kick. "I think this little guy wants to come out," he said, and grinned as he looked up at Marguerite. Marguerite chuckled. "Soon, my love. But what if our 'little guy' is actually a little girl?" she asked, resting her hand on top of Roxton's.  
  
"Well then," Roxton began, as he toyed with the strap on Marguerite's nightgown and moved in to kiss her neck, "we'll have a beautiful daughter- who'll have dark hair and dazzling grey eyes, just like her mother. And I'll love her just as much." Marguerite giggled in delight. "Roxton, your stubble!" she cried in pleasure. "You're tickling me!" She placed her hands on the laughing Roxton and touched his forehead with hers. "Come now, I'm feeling a little tired." She moved off the bed to pull off the covers and crawled back in. She looked up at Roxton and smiled. "Shall you join me?" she asked, gesturing to the spot beside her. "I shall," replied Roxton, smiling back, and snuggled under the covers beside his love. He paused to blow out the small candle on the night table beside their bed, and sighed as he lay on his back. "Goodnight, my love," he whispered to Marguerite, who was falling on the brink of sleep. "Goodnight, my love," Marguerite returned. She shut her eyes, and fell fast asleep. Roxton sighed once again, as he lay silent on his back. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the shadows of night creeping towards him. Sleep, once again, would not come to him that night.  
  
Roxton and Marguerite had been the last of the treehouse's residence to curl up in bed. The treehouse was now completely dark, and comfortably quiet. The only sounds to be heard were the sounds of the nocturnal creatures that roamed the jungle late at night. It was calm. It was peaceful . . . and it was the perfect time to strike an attack. Jenkins chuckled silently as he took a puff from his cigar. He was safely hidden in behind a group of tall bushes-for now. He crouched to the ground and slowly parted the foliage in front of him to gaze ahead at the treehouse. The light from Roxton and Marguerite's room had just flickered off. This meant that the couple had just gone to bed. This also meant that everyone else had gone to bed as well, except for Veronica, for it was her turn to take the night watch. Jenkins had been watching the treehouse and its inhabitants for more than a month and a half now (since their last encounter) and he knew the daily routines and schedules of each person. He knew what time they got up; what day of the week a certain pair of explorers would go to the Zanga Village to purchase and trade goods; what time they would eat their meals; what time they went to bed; he knew it all. But most of all, he knew that now was the time to strike his long- planned attack. He had been waiting for this night for a long time now . . . this was his Night of Deliverance. Tonight was the night that he would achieve his long-awaited revenge . . . and tonight was the night when Lord John Richard Roxton would die.  
  
Back at the treehouse, Veronica paced around in the kitchen nervously; her intuition was telling her that something was going to happen tonight-something bad. She didn't know what it was, or when it would happen . . . but she knew she was right. Over the years she had spent in the jungle alone, she had learned to trust her instincts. And her instincts told her to be very cautious tonight . . . for someone was watching and waiting. "Brett Jenkins," she whispered to herself, "it's him. I can almost smell him." Brett Jenkins-how very much she despised that name! She barely knew him, but she didn't have to at all to know that he was nothing but a manipulating conspirer. 'Poor John,' she thought silently as she sighed and leaned tiredly against the table, 'I can't imagine what he's going through right now; a dangerous lunatic is out there is hunting him, trying to kill him for something that happened years ago . . . something that wasn't even John's fault at all.' Veronica closed her eyes. 'Don't worry, John. I won't let him harm you or Marguerite-none of us will." She couldn't imagine what they would do without John Roxton. He . . . he was part of their family . . . her family. The family that she never had. Veronica clenched her teeth as she grabbed her dagger out of her boot and clutched it hard. Her fist shook angrily. "And I'll be damned before I let anyone-ANYONE-break my family again," she vowed, "and that, Brett Jenkins, is a promise." Suddenly, as if in reply, a bloodcurdling cry echoed throughout the air, and a large patch of jungle foliage burst into flame! Veronica gasped as she watched the orangey-red flames devour the nearby plant life. Her eyes went wide. "CHALLENGER!" she frantically screamed. "NED! COME QUICK!" Almost immediately, Challenger and Malone burst into the kitchen, revolvers in hand. Roxton and Marguerite joined them, also brandishing more weapons. Roxton, fearing some sudden attack, pulled Marguerite to the floor. "Marguerite, keep down!" he cried, and sat her into a crouching position. Marguerite, knowing she could do nothing to sway Roxton, grumbled and sat on the floor behind the table. "Would someone at least tell me what the hell is going on?!" she demanded. The explorers turned to Veronica. "What happened?" questioned Challenger, as he turned towards her. "How did this all come about?" Veronica shrugged anxiously. "I don't know!" she cried. "Someone screamed, and that patch of foliage out there erupted into flame out of the blue! That's all I saw and heard!" "I heard the scream loud and clear," Malone stated, "do you . . . do you think someone's hurt?" "Possibly," replied Challenger, "but who? And what in God's name were they doing out here so close to the treehouse in the middle of the night?" Roxton grimly strode forward. That scream had haunted his dreams for the past couple of months, ever since. . . . "Brett Jenkins," he answered despondently, "it was his. I could never forget that scream . . . ever." At hearing this, Veronica stood up. "I knew it!" she exclaimed, "I knew he would try something tonight, I just knew it!" "But Veronica," voiced Marguerite from the floor, "it's obvious that Brett is hurt-maybe even killed! Our only problem now is to stop that damned fire from spreading towards us!" "Perhaps Marguerite is right," entered Challenger, "and suppose that Brett has been killed. But what if he hasn't, and what if this is all a ruse? What if this is all a game to lure us out there?" "Either way . . . Marguerite is also right about the fire coming towards us!" cried Malone. "We can't stay in here while that fire is spreading so rapidly! We have to try to put it out!" Challenger stepped out onto the balcony to gaze at the small spot of the enflamed foliage. "The fire isn't very big, but it is spreading. We had better put it out before it does come any closer!" "What? All of us?" asked Veronica. "But Challenger, what if Jenkins really is out there, playing some sort of game! We could be walking straight into a trap!" "Good point, Veronica. Then only three of us will go-you, Malone, and-" "Me," interrupted Roxton from behind Challenger. All turned around to stare at him. "I will go with Veronica and Malone. And please don't try to argue with me." Marguerite ignored Roxton's words. "No, John!" she cried. "Absolutely not! You can't go out there! If Jenkins really is out there. . . ." "Marguerite." Roxton crouched down with his beloved pregnant heiress and began stroking her face. "If Brett really is out there-dead or alive-I must go and find out." "But what if that's what he wants?" wailed Marguerite. "What if Veronica's right and he is setting up a trap?" "Marguerite has a point, John," chimed in Veronica, "after all, Jenkins could be doing this because he wants you dead. And if it's true, and you go running out there. . . ." "I'll be prepared," intervened Roxton, cocking his rifle. He faced Marguerite once again. "Marguerite . . . I can't give you an exact reason- but I must do this. I promise you-I swear to you that I'll be careful." "Oh John. . . ." Marguerite buried her head in Roxton's shoulder. "Why? Why must you do this?" "I'm doing this for you, Marguerite. For our child. For all of us."  
  
Marguerite squeezed Roxton's hand. "Please don't," she begged once more, "John, please don't do this!" "I must. I'll be back, Marguerite. I promise." He kissed her tenderly and shortly on her lips, and rose up. "Challenger, you can stay with Marguerite and watch over her. Please." Challenger sighed and nodded. "All right, John. I will." Roxton strode towards the elevator with Veronica and Malone, blankets to snuff out the fire and his rifle in hand. "I love you, Marguerite," he called. Marguerite stood up from the floor and gazed towards the beloved. She put her hand on her swollen abdomen. "You're as stubborn as a bull, John," she said sadly, but smiled warmly, "but I love you all the same. Be careful, John! Be careful all of you!" Roxton smiled back at Marguerite, and even blew her a kiss as the elevator descended towards the jungle floor. 


	15. The Night of Deliverance

Chapter Fifteen-The Night of Deliverance  
  
Time painfully went by. Seconds slowly ticked into minutes, and before Marguerite knew it, half an hour had passed since John, Veronica, and Ned had left to douse out the unexpected fire that had erupted in the middle of the night.  
  
Challenger, sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table, watched as Marguerite nervously paced up and down. "Marguerite, my dear," his voice began, "I think it's best that you come and sit down with me. You aren't looking very well."  
  
"Looking well? Of course I'm not looking well!" Marguerite stopped her pacing to gaze out into the night sky. "How can I be? Not only am I eight- and-a-half months pregnant . . . John and the others have rushed out-in the middle of the night-to douse out a fire that was started by God knows what!" Marguerite sighed sullenly. "Damn it, George . . . I'm so afraid for them!"  
  
"Afraid?" Challenger stood up from his chair and put a comforting hand on Marguerite's shoulder. "Why, Marguerite?"  
  
Marguerite turned to look up worriedly at Challenger. "It's just . . . a feeling I have," she replied warily, "something tells me that this isn't right!"  
  
"Oh, Marguerite. Please, just try not to worry. John and the others can take care of themselves. They'll be fine. Trust me, Marguerite; they'll be back safely and soundly before you know it."  
  
"I hope so, Challenger," Marguerite said, and yawned tiredly. Challenger gently took her by the arm and led her to a lounging chair. "Sit down," he said, and helped her into the chair, "and try to get some rest."  
  
Marguerite shivered and tightened her bed robe. "I won't be able to sleep until I know that the others' are back safely," she declared.  
  
Challenger kneeled beside the worn-out heiress. "Seriously, Marguerite . . . you need your rest. You and your child." He smiled warmly. "I promise that I'll wake you up when they arrive-"  
  
The sound of the ascending elevator suddenly interrupted Challenger. Immediately, Marguerite perked up. "That'll be them!" she exclaimed, and sat up as quick as she could. She sighed in relief, and made her way to the elevator to greet John and the others.  
  
Challenger furrowed his brow. "They're back already?" he asked. "They . . . they've only been gone for half an hour. They couldn't have doused the fire that quickly!" He strode over to the balcony . . . where his heart skipped a beat.  
  
There, in the distance, he could see the fire still raging. For the most part it had been doused, but many sections of burning embers still glowed brightly in the dark atmosphere. Those burning embers could easily relight themselves, as any sensible person knew. In fact, Challenger could still (barely) see the shadowy silhouettes of his friends in the distance, as they ran back and forth and tried to smother the remaining flames with wet towels. So if they were still outside . . . who was coming up in the elevator?  
  
Something was very wrong indeed.  
  
Then, the realization hit Challenger right in the face. Marguerite had been right after all! It was a trap! And the fire had only been a mere distraction to lure out the security, while the vulnerable Marguerite and a watcher stayed inside. . . .  
  
"Marguerite!" cried Challenger as he turned away from the balcony and ran towards the elevator. "Don't go near the elevator! It's all a-"  
  
Challenger gasped and stopped in his tracks . . . as he beheld Brett Jenkins, standing right in front of him with an evil grin spread across his face. In his grasp was a very terrified Marguerite. A gun was aimed directly at her throat. "Challenger. . . !" she voiced in a frightened whisper.  
  
"Don't you even think about moving," Jenkins warned, his evil face filled with disdain, " because if you do, she dies!"  
  
Challenger narrowed his eyebrows. "Jenkins," he said darkly, "I should have known all along!"  
  
Jenkins sneered hellishly. "It's a little too late for that now, isn't it?" He chuckled unkindly. "And I thought that you were supposed to be smart. What a waste of intelligence!" He paused to gesture at Challenger. "Hands in the air!" he ordered. When Challenger had done so, he turned his gaze towards Marguerite, and smiled sickly. He closed his eyes and pressed his nose again her hair. "Mmm, you smell so good, my lovely," he whispered into Marguerite's ear. Marguerite trembled, and Jenkins grinned. "It's too bad that you've already been spoiled by that bastard who calls himself a Lord."  
  
As Marguerite whimpered in fright, Challenger's eyes turned dark. "Who the hell do you think you are, barging into our home like this in the middle of the night?" His voice lowered dangerously. "What are you doing here, Brett? What do you want?" Jenkins redirected his attention to Challenger. "The answer is quite simple," he began, "I'm here to kill John. But before I do so, I have a small . . . confession . . . to tell him." He sighed. "I knew that John would have me subdued if I just burst in here like I could have done. . . ." Brett sneered. "But now that I have you and his precious wench under my gunpoint, John might be in more of mood to talk. And you had better pray that he will be, because if he isn't-" Jenkins snarled with malice. "Both of you die."  
  
A tear emerged from Marguerite's eye. "If you say or do anything more to hurt him," she began, her quivering voice becoming lower with warning, "I swear to God that I'll . . . I'll. . . ."  
  
"You'll what?" asked a humoured Jenkins.  
  
Marguerite closed her eyes and squeezed them shut. Her hands moved down to clutch her swollen abdomen. "Ohhh," she groaned, and began to breathe heavily. Sweat dripped down her forehead. She gasped in pain as she felt the muscles inside of her contract excruciatingly.  
  
"Marguerite?" asked Challenger, suddenly becoming more alarmed. He stepped forwards to help her . . . but stopped when Jenkins pointed his revolver in his direction. "That's far enough!" He gestured to Marguerite. "What in hell's name is wrong with her?" he demanded.  
  
Challenger slowly glared up at him. "You fool! She's about to give birth!"  
  
For a brief moment, shock overtook the contempt look on his face. But soon enough, his evil grin returned to his face. "Excellent," he said, laughing immorally, "my timing couldn't have been better!" He turned to look at Challenger. "Can you deliver children?" he demanded.  
  
Challenger gulped. "I've read about the birthing of children and have studied it many times, yes, but . . . I've never actually performed the procedure. . . ."  
  
"That's good enough for me!" Jenkins cried as he grabbed Marguerite and shoved her into Challenger's arms. His revolver still hovered in the scientist's direction. "Do what you must. But don't even think of trying anything funny! Because if you do. . . ." he aimed the revolver at Marguerite. "You, my dear Challenger, will be responsible for two deaths at one time!"  
  
Challenger still held his dark gaze at Jenkins. Finally, he turned to Marguerite, who was becoming worse with every second. "Challenger!" she cried in pain, as tears poured from her eyes. "It . . . it hurts!" She frantically gasped for air.  
  
Challenger took Marguerite's hands in his. "Breathe, Marguerite!" he cried. "Remember the breathing patterns I taught you?"  
  
Marguerite nodded silently. She began to take in the various breathing patterns she had learned during her early months of pregnancy.  
  
Challenger nodded encouragingly. "That's it, Marguerite! Now come with me!" He led her to Veronica's room, where everything necessary for the delivery had already been set out; everyone in the treehouse had well known that the time was soon to come when Marguerite would birth her child. As extra caution, Veronica had given up her room and allowed it to be set up properly so that when the time did come, everything would be ready.  
  
Jenkins followed closely as Challenger led Marguerite to Veronica's room, revolver still in hand. All the while, a wicked smile played across his features. He laughed sinisterly. 'This is perfect,' he thought silently, 'just perfect! Not only do I have Challenger and Marguerite . . . soon, I will have their child to play as well!"  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, outside of the treehouse, the other members worked quickly to finish dousing out the remaining embers that blazed brightly in the darkness of the night.  
  
Ned Malone grunted as he whipped a wet towel down to the ash-covered ground to smother a small pile of lit cinders. He coughed as he breathed in the smoke that abruptly rose into the air. "That's the last one!" he managed to cry in between fits of coughing.  
  
Veronica came to Ned's side. "You okay, Ned?" she asked in concern.  
  
Ned nodded silently. "Yeah, thanks," he said. "Where's Roxton?"  
  
"Right here, Malone," came the reply. Roxton shook out his wet towel. Ashes flew into the air. He too coughed as the grey smoke hovered up into the night sky. He knelt down to breathe in the clearer air, when suddenly. . . .  
  
Roxton squinted in the darkness. He fingers stroked a certain spot on the ground, where an indent had been made. "Malone!" he cried and gestured with his hand. "Bring the lantern over here, quickly! I've found something."  
  
Immediately, Veronica and Malone knelt down beside him, Malone holding out the lit lantern above the ground before them. The lantern cast its small yet bright light downwards, creating a small spotlight that illuminated a certain section of the ground.  
  
"What is it?" asked Veronica. She brushed away a few black ashes from the spot Roxton had pinpointed, and narrowed her eyes. "That looks like a boot print," she observed, and looked questioningly at Roxton, "but how could that be?"  
  
"The fire came close to here," noted Roxton, "but it didn't make it here exactly. The only reason we can still see it is because the fire didn't consume this spot of ground before it was doused out."  
  
"So?" asked Malone as he shrugged innocently. "It's a boot print. What's the big deal?"  
  
"Look at it carefully, Malone," said Roxton as he stared down at it, as if he were in a trance, "the print obviously belongs to a male, with precisely a size eleven boot. No one here has boots that size."  
  
Veronica stood up grimly, as she realized what Roxton was getting to. "Are there any more of these?" she asked. She took the lantern from Malone's hand and held it out before her. She keenly scanned the ground below her, and knelt down abruptly. "There are!" she exclaimed. "There's a whole trail right here!"  
  
"Does it lead anywhere?" asked Malone, eyeing the trail intently.  
  
Veronica gulped. "It leads to the treehouse," she correctly concluded. She slowly and dismally turned around to face Roxton . . . who was stricken with horror.  
  
Malone shared Roxton's horrified glance. "The fire," he said in understanding, "it was deliberately set by someone! He did it so he could get us out. . . ."  
  
"And get himself in . . . in the treehouse!" Veronica's eyes widened with terror.  
  
Anger and fright swirled in Roxton's head, as his mind clouded with darkness. Suddenly, he turned towards the treehouse. "Brett Jenkins!!" he yelled in rage. "Damn you, Brett Jenkins!"  
  
"This was all a trap!" exclaimed Malone. "We've got to get back to the treehouse now! Challenger and Marguerite could be in serious danger!"  
  
Roxton furiously clutched his rifle. "Come on!" he cried. He, Malone, and Veronica bolted towards the treehouse as fast as they could, completely unaware that they were already too late.  
  
  
  
In the time being, Marguerite laid on top of Veronica's bed. She screamed loudly as the agonizing and writhing pain of birth erupted in her lower abdomen with every contraction. She felt freezing cold, yet she also felt boiling hot at the same time. Her body was covered in goosebumps, while beads of dribbling sweat rolled off her forehead.  
  
"CHALLEN-GER!!!!" she screeched as tears poured out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She had never felt so weak in her entire life.  
  
"That's it, Marguerite!" cried Challenger encouragingly. "Push, Marguerite! I can see the head already! Keep pushing!"  
  
Marguerite panted for air, and screamed once again. Her scream echoed throughout the entire treehouse. The pain seemed to rip through her like no pain ever could. "JOHN!" she bellowed, and squeezed her eyes shut.  
  
That was when the memory of Marguerite's nightmare that she had almost nine months ago entered her mind. Marguerite realized that she had not had a nightmare, but an extremely similar vision. Only this time, there was no village, and there was no army. There was only herself, and Challenger.  
  
But the enemy was still there. From the corner of the room, Brett Jenkins watched and waited eagerly, fingering his revolver. Anger and hate immediately filled Marguerite's head. Mustering up all of her hidden strength, Marguerite sat up determinedly. She was going to do this! She was going to bring her and John's child safely into the world! And no one- NO ONE-was going to stop her.  
  
"JOHN!" she screamed again as she pushed as hard as she could. The pain once again tore through her, but Marguerite didn't let that stop her. "JOHHHHNNN!"  
  
Challenger smiled. "That's it!" he shouted in joy as he held Marguerite's screeching child in his hands. "You did it, Marguerite, you did it!" He grabbed a scalpel and was just about to cut the umbilical cord, when suddenly . . . he paused and frowned.  
  
"What is it?" asked an eager Jenkins, who perked up from his position against the wall. "What's going on?" He clutched his revolver. Challenger was speechless, as he gazed down. "I cannot believe it. . . ." From her position on the bed, Marguerite whimpered weakly. "Challenger . . . what is it . . . what about my child. . . ."  
  
". . . .Your son," Challenger interjected, "is perfectly fine, Marguerite." He cut the umbilical cord and wrapped the tiny child in a soft towel. He rested Marguerite's son into a wooden cradle by the bedside. "And you shall see him soon. But first, Marguerite, you must get back up! You're not quite finished yet!"  
  
"Wh-what?" Marguerite gasped weakly. "What are you . . . saying?"  
  
"I'm saying that you have another child on the way!" cried Challenger, as his gaze came upon Marguerite's surprised face. "You have twins, Marguerite!"  
  
At hearing this unexpected news, the surprised look on Jenkins' face turned to sheer, evil pleasure. 'This is better than I anticipated,' he thought grimly. Oh, he couldn't wait to see the look on John's face when he . . . Jenkins threw back his head and roared with immoral laughter. 


	16. The Dark Confession

APN: Well, you guys . . . I don't know what to say, except . . . I'm BACK! Not only that, but I'm . . . so . . . SORRY! I can't believe how long I've been gone, and how long I've waited to actually update this fic! It would indeed be an understatement to say that RL's been busy, but that should be used as an excuse anymore.  
  
I started this fic two years ago. Suddenly, I now find myself graduated from high school and entering university. shakes head Now how did that happen? LOL.  
  
Just know that I'm back—this time, for good!  
  
Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing and egging me on to finish while I've been gone. And thank you to the regular reviewers . . . if they still visit this site, that is! You guys know who you are . . . first and foremost Evil Irish Eyes (hey girl! I'm baaaa-aaack! I missed ya and I hope you missed me too! Don't hate me for leaving for so long!), Crimson Cat, Jaclyn, A. Windsor, Lady Kate . . . and anyone else I missed, you know who you are!  
  
So, finally, here is chapter sixteen! Read it, enjoy it, and review it! Love you all!  
  
PS. I'm not sure how well the formatting will be . . . if all of my paragraphs are stuffed together, don't worry! I will update and replace it!  
  
Chapter Sixteen—The Dark Confession  
  
Run . . . run. . . .  
  
John Roxton's mind was trapped in a wild whirlwind; the events that had happened only moments ago drained from his mind with the desperate need to flee. His chest violently heaved in and out, swallowing in great amounts of much-needed air.  
  
Run . . . run faster. . . .  
  
Very distantly, he could hear the thumping sounds of Veronica and Malone's booted feet. They were several metres behind him, running almost as crazed as he, shouting words at him of which he couldn't seem to understand; words that he didn't want to understand.  
  
No. The only thing he wanted to do now was run. Run—get to the treehouse in time before disaster struck. Before he struck.  
  
Brett Jenkins was in the treehouse; he was certain of that. Roxton had no clue as to how long he had been there—that wasn't important to him. The only thing important to him was the idea of Challenger, Marguerite, and their unborn child remaining unharmed. And if Jenkins had threatened that idea. . . .  
  
Run . . . run for all you're worth, God dammit. . . .  
  
A tall plant with long, spiked leaves scratched Roxton's unshaven cheek as he flew past. The scratch was shallow, but the leaf was still sharp; it gave him a long cut that stretched out towards his ear. Warm blood slowly tricked anew as it ran down his face.  
  
But Roxton didn't feel a thing.  
  
Soon enough, the black silhouette of the treehouse erupted into detail as the frenzied trio closed the distance between it; bright light streamed forth from the Marguerite's window; the gate of the electric fence lay open; and the elevator which should have touched the ground creaked as it slowly swayed from the cables high above.  
  
Roxton flew past the gate and forced his feet to come to a stop at the base of the large tree. He forced his head to look up at the creaking elevator, and clenched his fists deeply into his sides. "BRETT!" he screamed in fury, his breath coming out in loud, angry exhales.  
  
Veronica and Malone had stopped behind him—they too were looking at the dangling elevator in pure wrath. Malone whipped out his pistol; Veronica clutched her knives in both hands.  
  
All stood silent, waiting for a reply. The air was thick with tension and fury.  
  
Not a moment longer, however, the reply came: a cautious and shaking voice sounded from a window above.  
  
"Roxton. . . ."  
  
Immediately, Roxton whipped his head to the left. Up above from Marguerite's window was Challenger. His head was pushed out of the rectangular space. Nervously, his eyes searched the darkness below for the man to whom the name he called belonged. Upon closer inspection, they realized that a hand had wormed its way into Challenger's mass of wiry red hair, sharply pulling it back. Another hand had jammed a pistol into the side of his skull.  
  
"Challenger!" the trio roared in unison, gazing upwards in vehemence and fear.  
  
"Roxton. . . ." Challenger repeated, swallowing deeply. "You, and you alone must come up to the treehouse. The elevator will be sent down for you."  
  
"Hah!" Veronica gripped her knives even harder. "If that psycho thinks that we are going to send John up there by himself. . . ."  
  
"It must only be Roxton!" cried Challenger, his voice wavering in fright. "If either of you move towards the elevator, you will be shot."  
  
Roxton let his gaze fall towards Veronica and Malone. "The man is insane!" frantically whispered Malone, meaningfully gesturing with his pistol. There's no way you can go up there by yourself!"  
  
"Who knows what games the psycho has in store for you up there?" chimed a frightened Veronica.  
  
Much to their surprise, Roxton shook his head. "No—I'll not take any arguments. Challenger's right; I must go up there alone."  
  
"But—"  
  
"No buts." He sighed. "You two are right—who knows what games he has in mind? I'll not have you two put your lives at risk."  
  
"Roxton!" hissed Veronica, clenching her teeth in defiance. "He plans to kill you! And Marguerite, Challenger, and us as well. . . ."  
  
"I said no!" snapped Roxton, his fists shaking in ferocity. "This is my fight; Jenkins is my past, my problem. Only I alone can deal with him. And deal with him I will!"  
  
Roxton once again flicked his gaze upwards, back towards Challenger. "All right!" he shouted in the night air. "All right! Challenger, you tell that bastard that I'm coming up—alone." He gazed meaningfully at Veronica and Malone, who shook their heads in frustration.  
  
The hand which gripped Challenger's hair jerked forcefully, causing him to slam his eyes shut. "There is one other thing, Roxton—you must throw all of your weapons to the ground and come up unarmed."  
  
"What!" cried Malone as his eyes widened in fright. "Roxton, there's no way you can—"  
  
"He must be unarmed!" roared Challenger through teeth clenched. "Jenkins knows, Malone! If he does not surrender each weapon he carries, he will be shot. If he is found with one up top, he will be forced to watch Marguerite and myself be killed, just prior to himself being shot."  
  
Malone roared in anger as Veronica stamped her foot to the ground. "He's probably going to do that anyway!" she shrieked. "Roxton, don't listen—"  
  
She was sharply interrupted by Roxton as he swung his rifle off his shoulder and threw it to the ground. "Tell him it will be done!" he cried, unholstering both his pistols and dropping them with a loud thump. Next came his hunting knife; he took it from his belt and dropped it with the rest. Everything he had which was considered a weapon was quickly removed and dropped to the ground. He then looked up, waiting for his answer.  
  
Jenkins must have been satisfied, for Challenger spoke again. "The elevator will be sent down. Remember, if either Veronica or Malone moves. . . ."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," chimed Malone, glaring upwards, "we'll be shot. I think we get the picture."  
  
Challenger yelped as the hand jerked him backwards, away from the window. A moment later, the familiar clanking sounds of the lowering elevator cables echoed through the nearly silent jungle. It descended slowly, rocking gently as it hit the ground.  
  
Roxton, his face full of rage and hatred, clenched his fists and moved towards the elevator.  
  
"Roxton!" cried Veronica, grabbing his arm. She sighed as he turned towards her. "I think that this is going to sound pointless . . . but please, be careful."  
  
Malone slowly nodded in agreement. "You get that bastard. And be careful."  
  
Roxton roughly pursed his lips and returned the nod. Slowly raising his hands, he placed one on each of his friends' shoulders and gazed at them valiantly. "I will."  
  
And then, turning silently, he walked into the elevator and slowly began to ascend.  
  
The moments that saw Roxton ascend in the elevator towards the treehouse were stretched out into the longest moments he had ever experienced. His life was literally flashing before his eyes. Each foot upwards saw a different vision—the first ones were of his life in England years ago, slowly stemming towards his broken and betrayed friendship with Brett Jenkins.  
  
And then he saw him. Eyes full of fire, face full of malice. You called yourself a friend . . . yet you're nothing but a traitor. You're no longer a friend to me. Get out.  
  
And suddenly, they were whisked away, back all those years ago by Henry street in the darkness of London's night. There he was, holding the large sack of money towards Brett, urging him, almost begging him to take it; begging him to repair their friendship.  
  
But Brett only sneered and spit in his face. Your offer's been declined, and my decision's been made. Now walk away, just like you said you would, and leave!  
  
And he did. He left . . . but was not back home. Suddenly, Henry Street in London vanished; hate was whisked away by love in the form of Marguerite.  
  
Come with me . . . don't look back, John, we're safe now.  
  
They were back at the treehouse and they were alone, folding beneath one another in passionate embraces. Marguerite smiled, her grey eyes glowing with love. Tenderly, she showered his face with zealous kisses, kissing his tears away.  
  
I—out of all people in this world—know how hard it is to reveal dark secrets from the past. You can trust me, John. I love you.  
  
The both of you.  
  
And that was when Roxton's eyes snapped open. The fire of vengeance raged more powerfully than it ever had before. No longer was he going to succumb to his thoughts of death—he would never do so again.  
  
Instead, he was going to fight. He was going to fight and overcome Brett Jenkins, save Marguerite and their child from the danger that the bastard threatened . . . and he was going to live through it.  
  
No sooner than these thoughts flashed through his mind, the elevator came to an abrupt stop. He had arrived.  
  
Cautiously, Roxton's experienced eyes scanned the treehouse entrance. It was dark, and it was quiet. The air was heavy with trickery and deception. With complete stealth, he moved his feet and quietly stepped out into the awaiting darkness.  
  
No sooner than he had done so, Challenger's shaky voice once again sounded in the blackness. "Roxton!" he cried, and the hunter whipped his head forwards. Quickly ensuing Challenger's call was a loud and cracking noise; then he heard Challenger groan and slump to the floor.  
  
"No!" cried John, leaping towards the direction in which he heard his friend fall. A few paces further, John found him, crumpled into a heap. He felt around in the darkness for Challenger's throat for a pulse; instead, his fingers brushed against his forehead. They came away, sticky with warm blood.  
  
Roxton's shaky fingers slowly clenched into a tight fist. "BRETT!" he cried once again, springing to his feet.  
  
A distant evil laugh sounded deeper into the treehouse, coming from Marguerite's room. "Never fear, my dear lord. . . ." called a taunting Jenkins, "he is alive, for the time being." A pause. "Now come. Come closer, John, come closer." Jenkins laughed maliciously.  
  
Roxton clenched his teeth in pure fury and furtively crept towards the voice. Step by step, the treehouse became brighter. "Show yourself, Jenkins!" he demanded. He came to Marguerite's bedroom door. It was shut; bright candlelight streamed forth from its cracks.  
  
"Within due time, John," came Jenkins' evil voice once again. "You've almost made it. Come on . . . I'm just through this door. . . ."  
  
'He's playing games,' Roxton thought aloud, stopping just before the door, 'the fool! If he wanted me dead, he would have already shot me!' Not seeing any point in continuing his stealth, Roxton took in a deep breath and burst through the bedroom door. "Jenkins!" he shouted again, whirling around in search for his foe.  
  
Brett Jenkins was nowhere to be found. However, lying on the bed, looking as still and pale as a corpse, was Marguerite. Roxton's eyes widened with fright. "Marguerite!" he cried, his voice cracking unsteadily. Immediately he was at her bedside, falling to his knees and stroking her smooth, ashen face. "Oh, Marguerite. . . ."  
  
At the touch of his hand, Marguerite stirred. Her eyes half opened and immediately shut. "John. . . ." she weakly whispered, her forehead growing sweaty once again. "John . . . he has them . . . don't let him. . . ." She groaned in frailty and fell unconscious once again.  
  
Before he could say another word, Roxton jolted as he heard a booted foot come in contact with the wooden floor behind him. Swallowing in anger, Roxton slowly rose to his feet, turned around . . . and widened his eyes.  
  
There, at the front of the room, stood Brett Jenkins, smiling at Roxton with malice and deceit. In his arms were two small bundles of blankets, stirring lightly as they slept on, completely oblivious of the danger that they were in.  
  
Roxton's voice was caught in his throat. He tried to speak, but any words that came to him failed, lost in that same whirlwind of emotion.  
  
Jenkins was holding his children.  
  
His children—twins!  
  
"Congratulations, John!" came Jenkins' mocking voice, his malicious smile never leaving his face. He looked down at the twins. Gently, he rocked them in his arms and slowly began to pace around the room. "Not one offspring, but two! It's quite amazing, actually . . . they look like you. Especially the boy."  
  
At this, a single sound emerged from Roxton's throat.  
  
"That's right," continued Jenkins, "your son's resemblance is almost uncanny. I'll bet that within twenty years, you'll have a younger version of yourself." He paused to turn to Roxton and evilly stared into his eyes. "Too bad you'll never have a chance to find out."  
  
Every muscle within Roxton's body began to quiver. "You bastard. . . ." he whispered, the hate emitting from his broken voice, "leave . . . my . . . children . . . alone! They have nothing to do with this . . . this is between you and I. . . ."  
  
Jenkins laughed and shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, very well, then." He walked over to the wooden crib that Challenger had made and gently set the infants in. "We'll play it your way, for now." Standing up straight once again, he pulled out his black pistol from his belt. "But do realize that I'm not going to let them live much longer." He cocked his head towards the unconscious Marguerite. "Or her. Or that mad scientist . . . or your friends outside." His evil smile drooped to a snarl. "Make no mistake—I'm going to kill you as well. But not before I've made you suffer!" He sinisterly cocked his pistol.  
  
The two enemies held one another's gaze in a long line of furious and jolting fire. "Then what are you waiting for?" asked Roxton, his voice rising in hatred.  
  
Jenkins' snarl once again pointed upwards in his wicked grin. "Because, my dear lord, I have a secret to tell you—a secret that I've been dying to tell you for years." He paused, his eyes never leaving Roxton's. "You never killed William, John. I did." 


End file.
